Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Punks jump up to get beat down.

Popping collars and kneecaps like a talking, walking murder she wrote parade float.
Ham stringing out, strung out, stung out, hung out in the car park.
Lynch mobbed like David getting flogged.
Goway grommet, Governor Gordon got grabbed by gronks and greased into the back of Gemini.

I was doing this in the seventies, the eighties even.
Who's world is this?
Brand new with no money, cash ruins everyone around mount lawley.
Big L at the end, by the time you read it, you'd have to start again.

Movie scenes with drag queens and make up whores, ain't the sorry story one you tell for show, god no.
Ain't the evidence in the obedience of obsequiousness?
Pity noone, harbour intelligence with every port in a teacup, chicks with pushups get beat up and left in the rain.
Stay on the block and cop onions while onions sell cops. Fresh licks of paint with tongue ulcers and herpes, but they love it regardless? Matchbox hidden in his socks, peanut butter and choc milk tuckshop jock. Dodge this bigger figure it's out now stay tuned outside doormat 'chbox you when I see you lad. Autobiographical murders without the arsehole assets.

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