Just because I dress like this doesn't make me a Communist



I'm going back to church tonight
Just like back when I was eight
But I don't mean to pray
I'm going to nick a collection plate
 
Stone me why can't you see
You're a no one nowhere washed up baby
Who'd look better dead.
Your tongue is far too long
I don't like the way it sucks and
Slurs upon my every word.
 
and so it's my assumption i'm really up the junction
And there's ten stuffed heads in my trophy room right now: two game wardens, seven hunters, and a pure bred Guernsey cow.

She took me to her parents for a Sunday meal, her father took one look at me and he began to squeal

Words to memorize, words hypnotize, words make my mouth exercise, words all fail the magic prize, nothing I can say when I'm in your thighs

England 1936, the grip of the Sabbath day, in London town the only sound is a whisper in an alleyway


Just because I dress like this, doesn't mean I'm a communist. FFS!
keep clam and curry on
 
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Writing frightening verse to a buck toothed girl in Luxembourg

There’s a mirror on the table if you think you could use it, don’t be ashamed go ahead just do it

Son I’m thirty I only went with your mother cause she’s dirty
 
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I can see me, bound and gagged,
dragged behind a clown mobile.

Shy submissive male genius as an opening line by Uncle Warren
 

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