Fork in you © AVT
Damn son you're cooked like a ten minute burger - that is to say, done
I'm sure you've been busy having fun but it's time to get in from my burning sun fury
My peripherals be parentheticals: they encapsulate all my visions and guides my predilections to break your fictions
You’ll suffer heat exhaustion with excessive friction between your eardrum and my phoenix fire just go on and retire
Never satisfied I be a poetic glutton or a lyrical gastronome mmm this is good you want some can't have it
To a simple mind like yours my lyrics be complex discrete mathematics
I'm an exegete: "He who explains difficult passages" my audience be privileged passengers your shit be monochrome and tone deaf I'm riding high like Hugh Heff wiff ladies on each arm you stink like stale meatball parm no time to disarm my fire already set off the alarm.
Graphically your verbs look like Picasso threw up onto a game of Pictionary it hurts so bad when I pop you fall down like a dead canary If you had any honor you would go Hari-Kari:
Admit defeat and fall on your blade - commit seppukku or I'll sip a Yoohoo and charge up like Ryu; shout haddukken it's game over.
Red Rover roll over and do such other things as I say and not as I do ‘cause I'm not so sure you can handle my verb foo
Too tired to keep up I think you should lose some of that gut and eat some salad this turned out to be a ballad of all the little ways you are due to pack it up and tuck it in watch it so you don't hit your shins when you bow down and out Plumber's got clout and final say go on punk and make my day.
You feel lucky?