I vomit up food, I'm no good,
I'm a piece of shit you see.
I can't get along, my dick not long,
There's something wrong with me.
For instance my face, a wrinkly surface,
Doesn't inspire a miss to look.
The gods don't care, that my pubic hair,
Has lice in every itchy nook.
So I should die, I should buy a tie,
And hang myself from it.
These and other different thoughts,
Make me feel like shit.
Maybe not my fault, my shit has salt,
And it disobeyed gravity.
Can't conform to rules,
I hide behind profanity.
But this life is shit, I know it,
I don't know what I can do.
The imaginary god I pray has to say,
I should sell my shit as glue.
That's an idea though, the shit flow,
Has been interrupted some.
I had to pull a highfalutin out,
That was sticking to the rectum.
Yes that's what I'll do, I'll sell shit as glue,
Hallelujah the god is good.
The clouds fart a song so nice,
I vomit some more food.
