I've got mouths to feed, basic unmet needs,
Poverty has fucked my pious ass.
Vitamin deficient not a penny or cent,
Just reverse peristalsis and petty gas.
Not holy my hole when shit like coal,
Offered then to the god in prayer pose.
Small painful tumors everywhere,
Look like eyes, lips and nose.
The gods with the rich, eat sandwich,
I saw with my "wound" eyes.
Poverty makes your tumors think,
What you normally ignore as flies.
Shit fuck gets stuck, constipated luck,
I pull the turd out with a fashioned tool.
Manly the head of the shit is the culprit,
The rest is the usual svelte stool.
My stoic stool and disapproved drool,
Have red stains of misery inscribed.
The worms in my shit are vociferous,
With words their hunger can't be bribed.
My piss is a palette pale, always stale,
It reeks of ammonia out of the tap.
My semen dried into corn flakes,
I never use any cap.
Plus I don't dare to ask a miss for a fuck,
Even if my dick could manage to stand.
The bengali cunts are podgy and belligerent,
I hope you understand.
They smell my crack, and are never seen back,
I sit on the stairs stirring time and tea.
They like shiny and clean assholes,
I do understand their disappointment with me.
Death to my enemies,
A dismembered future for them.
I suck at voodoo and curse,
Otherwise I'm a gem.
These are snakes in men form,
They are villainous and vile.
I hope they eat shit and choke,
Every murderous turd worthwhile.
Anyway, fuck everyone,
Go to hell I tell you all.
I'll just continue to finger my asshole,
And keep scratching my balls small.
When I'm dead think of me as a turd,
Just a bland and boring bengali piece of shit.
Just look away muttering misgivings,
And flush me with the rest of it.
