And I don’t know why I ever saw anything
In Richard the turd and his ropes
And gropes and faecal love and doff cough
Continual smoke and biff and boff.
There was nothing there but grass
In a pipe and coffee Adelaide iced,
Needles in the vein and grow a brain,
Mug of mope and old fart dope.
But they say this about him:
Rap singer extraordinaire
Double his dare make him work his share,
Handstand press-up and elegant gator stare.
Beware, beware his smoking rings
Blow out here and there.
Match stick tricks he takes one out
With his mouth to light his fag.
Do a stare at his underwear
He doesn’t care. He’s dead in there
Heart beats for nobody.
Lord of the flies voice
And every space of skin has a mole
He roles the die
And gambles his life away
Then fakes a cry.
Poetry about a relationship gone wrong