Last Poets Gashman
It feels so good And you tickle And she swallow feeling good So good And those black thighs clapped up against one another Like you weren't getting enough It feels so good Now there was pain But it was good pain Pain that hungered for more and more and more And maybe tears or... And you're saying, "Take it easy, baby Take it easy, baby" Good feelings Flesh against flesh, and that hot moistness That warm mucus surrounding your manhood So good Yeah, it feels so damn good Mmmmm Pain was there But she said... What'd she say, brother? [She said, "Come on, daddy"] And you came Every day you came You got beyond horny You are now a gashman Bleeding, and leaving a long stream of blood from corner to corner Stoop to stoop, bed to bed, and gash to gash So good It feels so good As sweat tickled down your back With your revolution being dug out of your wax-filled ears And your bleeding mind swinging strongly of death And allowing blood to clot and crust On the gash Sing a song of evening times Your days are numbered, Mr. Gashman All over bitches with big 'fros and nice bodies Turning would-be revolutionaries into gashmen Gashmen Same song yesterday, same song yesterday GASH NEEDS MAN NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY When you bleed to death, Mister Gashman And find yourself in a web of cold flame And rotten watermelon rinds and cigarette ashes and ashes And bye-byes and bye-byes and bye-byes Don't forget your alligator shoeAnnotates
