Pregnant with piss, yes dear miss,
I am a sorry and fateful tale.
My bladder travels to my mouth,
Whenever there's a sale.
I can't buy, but to piss I try,
On the dreams I once had.
Many lego sets and comic books,
I cherished as a lad.
Then I grew up, quite fast,
But didn't notice that I had done.
Now the baby fat is in the ass,
Love I get none.
Knowledge I have of the sort,
That has no practical need.
Tongues to lick ass,
Is really the only needed breed.
So dark is my ink, do slink in my stink,
Half avoiding the cheery outside.
But it's really hard to get along,
You may judge the ride.
I peacefully fart and snort my sorrows,
Lingering a finger in my ass.
Or the melancholy beans I eat,
That gives me the ostracizing gas.
Bit by bit, turd by shit,
I flush away my plans.
At my headquarter, the toilet, I sit,
My poop moves like kolkata trams.
But then miss, I piss,
And decide to move on.
There's really nothing I can do in this life.
My life is as good as gone.
But poverty is still a good place to be,
And it's better to be canceled so
I'd rather be those, than the hollow king,
Of shallow men with no marrow.
Poverty lets you settle on a compromise,
A list of annihilating burning shit.
But then in the end you realize,
The limerick wasn't really worth it.
Righting my wrongs, writing my songs,
My life is shit that's fucking hard.
But my thoughts on life's ups and downs,
Have softness of genteel lard.
It's really a game, at it I'm lame,
That's to put it politely of course.
I should instead shout, "I suck",
Until quite hoarse.
But victorious is he,
Who shits the longest, I claim.
And since I persist in shit therefore I'm it,
Even in life's zero sum game.
