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Roses
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1
Things are comin' up roses
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But I can't stand the smell
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I can't get this taste out of my mouth
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Now I'm eatin' the breakfast of champions
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Post Nasal Drip
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I'm being fed through a straw of moral astriction
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And don't smile - it's a turnoff
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And don't flinch - when it burns
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'Cause they'll know you're weak
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And I'll know you're weak
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And I just might...Tell them
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Now I'll sit right down in the back of the bus
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And talk out loud
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About being young and so well hung
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And just a little proud
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Now I don't beg for mercy and I don't plead
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A little fear is all I need
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From the bowel to the bowl
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You can smell my rotting soul
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Drill a hole in my skull
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Vacuum the blood off my brain
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Someone blew out the candles on my urinal cake
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Harry Harlow and Harry Carey
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Bring on the reaper it's harvest time
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It's time I take the law in my hands
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Come on, torch that broken down barnacle barge
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Coat that carcass with pus discharge
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You're just another weak link in the chain
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You can change your mind
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But you can't change your brain
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Do you hear me laughin', I don't think so
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People don't know when it's time to quit
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Like my daddy always told me when I was a boy
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You can shit where you eat
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But don't eat where you shit
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Sigmund Fraud and Sigmund Freud
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I guess that's why I'm paranoid
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Grab a hold of your seat
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The plot starts to thicken
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It takes a lickin' and keeeps on stickin'
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Now I'm strolling down the dusty psychopath
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Caught in the belly of a spiritual blood bath
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Foolish things confound the wise man
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Hit and run in a black sedan
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Aaah, let's have our own battle of the bulge, baby
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Take a ride on a public succubus
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Hit and run, hit and run
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Crushed by a mental incubus
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Spit and run, spit and run
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The sky turned black, and so did my soul
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A one way trip from the bowel the bowl
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Gonna piss my name in the snow, snow
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Up, up, up and away we go
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The gourmet fed me poison, poison
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The rat fink gave me cheese, cheese
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WHy don't you stand up and fight like a mannequin
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Helen Kellyer, Hellenistic
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The Greeks always did like it up the butt
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Ambush your bush, Snatch up your snatch
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Shake that ass you little slut
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The last thing I heard was fifty car horns
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My Christmas wreath became a crown of thorns
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I never should have let e e cummings write my resume
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Things are coming up roses
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But I can't stand the smell
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