I go to moon, soon, next convenient noon,
My balls excited with juice.
I have ejaculated like I am sixteen,
I will open a lunar pubic hair saloon.
That hair will be recycled into noodles for lunch,
Or for pressed pasta if you insist on flat ones.
The dingle berries will not be wasted from the gooch,
But used to make incense to go with suicidal zen koans.
My business may spread it's in my head,
I may pimp out my customers during a cut.
During the hair cut you may fuck their ass,
I get to keep the money, the cut is on the hut.
Many a plan I must run,
The rocket needs a name.
Moon here I cum, is the best I've got,
But it's just too obvious and a little lame.
