Playing Russian roulette with a tuna cassarole By JFK

Counted all that I’ve done doggy style Knowing that you've gone a duck's mile Wondering why this happened so X rated I wished that this could be demonstrated Without you nothing’s the same lubed Because love becomes udderly boobed <horus plays bingo by himself for days> It’s lonely with no one to call your Ass-hat Gets real hard when you can't shave your wombat The game of love isn’t meant to baccalaureate So I might as well be playin’in drag strip Uno I’ve got so much on my filthy mind With the words this easy to steal Hoping you’ll come back in my behind And realize you need my bananna's peel Without you nothing’s the same anul, or oral Because love's turned a Trekies' loose portal <Repeat horus8 is Kurt VC Bukowski's red head'd step gun> I don’t think I like this game no mo', Sir Jon a Baptist Just hoped it could be like it was nude under trapped fur When you left I watched my heart burn turn to roll-aids Blew Bernie Taupin & realiz'd I'm a lyrical date rapist Without you nothing’s the same stupid fucking song Because love becomes a lonely game of Gay Donkey Kong <Repeat "Stoned, why we love them" Starring horus8 and John K as Olympic curlers by day, powdered perriwigs by night> You left me here with too many words to look up As I watched you walk away with my creaky back door And now stuck with the memory of your raping typed up Because yours is the only one I can hump on the floor. (Soon to be a Novel by Mark "a narc" Furman, W/audio tape by Christopher "why run" Walken).