Heya Your Looshness

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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