And you read your Emily Dickinson
And I my Robert Frost
And we note our place with book-markers
That measure what we've lost

Fat pig priest
Sanctimonious smiles
He takes the money
You take a lies

I'm glad the Sex Pistols pussed out on that song. It just wouldn't be the same.

Crying back to consciousness
The coldness grips my skin
The sky is pitching violently
Drawn by shrieking winds
Seaspray blurs my vision
Waves roll by so fast
Save my ship of freedom
I'm lashed helpless to the mast

Soon I kicked the girl off of my dick
And she hit the floor like a sack of potatoes
I didn't even pull my pants back up when I shot up another table

She came slidin' down the alleyway like butter drippin' off a hot biscuit
The aroma, the mean scent, was enough to arouse suspicion in even the
Oldest of tigers that hung around the hot spot in those days
The sight was beyond belief
Many a head snapped for double--even triple--takes as this vivacious
Feline made her her way into the delta of the alleyway where the most
Virile of the young tabbies were known to hang out

cuz if I had my druthers
I'd butt**** both your brothers
then I'd grab your sister
take her out back and fist her
go down on your mama
start a whole lotta drama
save your dad for last
so I can eat out his ass

Edisni eht morf gnittoR
Evol dna raef fo taeh eht yb detabucni-revO
Detalugaoc s'fles ehT

Sdrawkcab gnipyt uoy yhw?

3:51