Radios, telephones, and rays of sunlight.
Not too bright.
Just so right.
All clear, right?
Not tonight…
Ray guns and play funs.
It’s being done
To everyone.
It’s a zero sum
To you, transmitter.
To you, go getter.
Spraying dat Loosh,
Like, big splash… sploosh!
Like, gimme dat boost!
Pappa gonna get his man on!
Buddy didn’t get dat joke.
Buddy ain’t doing woke.
He’s a self made man.
Anything he can
He does, an he does it well.
Buddy just gives life hell.
Ya, a self made man.
Doin what he can.
Open them gates of Hell.
Buddy, he knows damn well.
Gates are open,
Buddy’s hopin,
That Lucifer no can tell.
He’s the hungry sort
And a good retort
Might ring ‘ol Lucifer’s bell.
If he don’t, says Buddy, well…
He can make me sick
Where the Loosh runs thick
He can lick me clean
Savor my mean
And let my mean find it’s own damn place now.
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