Idiot Flesh Diggity Cow And The Dandy Mr. Clyde
Clever, clever, 2 clever 3 4 5. Having spent all morning
warming up the sing-song dog paddle, who would have
thought they could look so good times are coming down,
side winder should know ‘cause I saw him flinch, he likes
it, all the way home, he does, holding up the Frisbee
licking carpet baggers, dog breath dog breath diggity
dig, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your big
wig nun catcher. Cow. Big bad cow. The clowning glory of
the freeloading industry, soaked through, run down, pent
up, and losing badly. Yes. No. Hold on mister. You can’t
place the corners on the edges of the dining room tank
battle. Frantic door babies catch cold quicker than you
can, Mr. Clyde. But don’t tell me. Tell Richard, who can
hold his own but doesn’t realize it yet. Fool. Snack boy.
With the loaded banjo American midgets, pierced below the
wasting ladle, hocus poked through the jocular fainting
of a girl no bigger than a thumbtack, jack, dandelion,
worm, god, 1 clever losing 2 badly 3 dog 1 2.
