I can't explain my driving compulsive perfectionism to others, nor would I want to. My train's wheels squeal and spark against the tracks. My own words stagger back and forth against the walls of my mind, dehydrated but defiant, stunned by the cruel rigor of my demands.
So they rebel. In that spirit, here's my (latest) effort at hip-hop:(Untitled)
Challenge me son, and I'm not so nice
I'll cut you apart on my recording device.
When the crowd falls quiet, then I get the panics,
So I hide in a corner, and I chew up a Xanax.
I don't like to curse, but what the motherfuckin' heck...
Crazy Johnny's my name, I'll stick a needle in ya neck.
That's how I'm gonna get laaaaid!
When you step to me, I step on back,
Because you stink real bad and you whyme weal wack.
You remind me of Jimmy, he talks like a clam,
And when he gets drunk, he gives his wife a choke-slam.
Now he's in therapy, and it's good for him...
He's more sensitive, and I'm with Mrs. Jim.
That's how I always get laaaaid!
We'll blow up the chorus, don't linguistically bore us.
Brave the danger, explore us
Because it's death to ignore us.
If I don't make sense, just feel my tone,
And check the vibration, now stroke my bone.
Take a taste of my skin, it's honey sweet.
And I ain't got no foreskin on the end of my meat.
Most of my life is about my penis...
But don't worry 'bout the herp, creature of Venus.
That's how I never get laaaaid!