(a nonsense must read blog posted on November 32nd)
Cricket bats at the ready, boys!
We gotta clean out the attics of the rich
And decipher kryptonite particles
Written in the tea leaves of Cypress
Before it is too late.
Go on now, go on!
Ain't no sense being stubborn
Mules got souls, too, I know that
But you turkeys
Gonna end up on somebody's plate come Thursday.
I got me a cannon
On the top of that hill
I'm gonna light it up and fire it
At Jupiter one of these hot damn days
You just watch me out of your blind eyes!
Weasels! Weasels! Everywhere!
Just look at 'em! Wearing lil ole heels
And mink coats and mini dresses
Made out of mp3 players
And fine copper wires.
I says to my buddy the other day
I says: Hambone, where you think we goin'?
And he says: I don't know 'bout you, Plumber
But I'm goin' to sleep!
And I says: Well, bring me back a souvenir.
Rose, my baby Rose, (you know the one)
She smile all the time and it make me suspicious
She even smile when she cryin'!
I bought her a turquoise Thunderbird to drive herself crazy in
But she put it in a blender and made one of them smoothies.
Did ya'll see that news story the other day?
'Bout the end of the 5th dimension
And the ramifications of the non-totalitarian be-bop society
And the effects of Popsicle dreams on a left handed
Son of a moonshine maker in Rockport, Cali-sumthin-er-nuther?
It gonna be the death of us all
The death of us all, I tells ya!
That and peanut butter left out in the sun
And shooting stars lying all over the ground
For kids to trip over and make airplanes out of.
But back to the attics of the rich
That's my call in life
I know that now. Me and my baby, Rose
Gonna clean out all them attics with cricket bats
And settle down in Whynot, Mississippi and sell gorilla cookies.
Uh huh. Sho 'nuff, we are. You just watch
Gonna sell us enough gorilla cookies
To get our own attic.
by the twisted Voo
Nov 4, 07