across the primrose trees
blows the faintest scent of sleaze
the bees all leave their shelter in the mooring
but I will do just what I please
and anyway to hell with all them bees
from what I can seize those bees should be adoring
below the timmyrickle grass
behold a timmyrickle ass
a six legs that old ass doth be adorning
and somehow when I see those legs beneath the ground a'toiling
the thought of all those floozy girls
just does set my blood a'boiling
so I will do just what I please
and anyway to hell with all them bees
from what I can sees those bees should be adoring
The Impeachment Testimony of William S. Clinton to Parliament Funkadelic
"Who be I?
A mystery guy?
One seldom seen among the ranks?"
"An interloafer or a jester,
one set upon mean dirty pranks!"
"A howling mine of golden bars, true
Topped with dirt and slime..."
"Unreasonably proportioned, you
Bulimic vomiter of rhyme!"
"My gifts sometimes inspire fear
(Not a small thought to thank)
So often be it when I rear
If I am to be frank...
But who be I?
And be I known?
Be my secrets all
Unfurled?
Or be they safe,
in another tome,
Where I've hid them
Safely squirreled?
(If one could know
Just half the things
Unknown in this dark world,
I'm sure that I'd be terrified
And foetally be curled.)
But who be I to guess at things
Of which you've only dreamt?
(If Hilary could see me now,
with wild hair unkempt!)
Fully erect, I have come
Perhaps I should have limped
But who be I if I be not
The kind of guy who pimped?"
The night is choked with black taloned ravens and blood curdling screams
Like the screams of my tormented soul dark and barren
The pathetic laughter of stupid and naive babies can't escape the nothingness
When I walk down the black lane, alone and bleeding
Casting my clever eyes around at the fools around me
They can never know the depths of my pain and sorrow.
I put on my Naruto t-shirt like a devil spawn
Laughing at the smiling idiots who dance the sheep two step
"Poor fools" I smurk, "they can not see their own absurdity"
Why must the earth be sick with their shallow desires?
Alone, I see their sunken eyes, holding hopelessly to
Rapidly fading memories of the only time they ever had a unique thought.
Aeschylus and Loki gather in the midnight rain
Cursing Zeus and Hamurabi's code
(can it be that their pale hands shake like my mine?)
Slaves to their own tiny lives like ants drowning in syrup
I alone crawl from this burning wreckage,
Using my feelers to navigate the excrement
Like some kind of unimaginable man who turns into a bug.
The girl-who-is-not-quite-my-girlfriend (she says she loves me)
Weeps into a paper cup and I drink down the cold sweet nectar,
"Apes!" I laugh, scolding the lonely uneducated child.
She does not belong here, nor anywhere else,
On this stupid anthill, the cold dying Earth
Where I am the sole survivor among the flames
note to moderators/sensitive readers: the use of the word "****" in the above poem refers exclusively to the barnyard animal- take your dirty minds elsewhere!!!
Put my **** in my sock and my **** got socky
Put a rock on my **** and the rock got cocky
Live in Chinatown so I chew on Pocky
Looked at the clock and it said "tick tocky"
Flocked to the bar where I drink my sake'
Like silent movies but I don't like talkies
Dig Mr. Data but I don't dig Spocky
Put a lock on the door when it goes "knick knocky"
I'm not mean but I feel a bit mocky
Make sweet music like Sebastian Bachy
When I get dirty I put on my smocky
Always brillig like a Jabberwocky, wocky, wocky, wocky, wocky
It's 6cc for my latest rhyme
It'll knock you black and blue each time
With a cascade trample infectious beat
That I'm stamping out with my magic feet
I got twenty six life and fifteen cards in my hand
And you'll see I've got plenty of land
Now if I were you, man, I'd just concede
'Cause it's only turn two and I've got the lead
And your counter spell there can't do [a bit]
Cause I'm hard to stop like a Creeping Tar Pit.
Harry Potter, tired,
Tottered, rose, then sauntered 'cross the dorm room floor.
This was his habit.
Each night at four, as if summoned,
up from bed, half-dreaming, dumbened,
Harry (as his roommates, laughing, swore)
Awoke each night direct from snores!
Checking his clock, he finds the hour,
Familiar, silent, somewhat dour,
But never quite less sweet than sour,
His hour, alone, on Hogwart's second floor.
This night, just like any other,
Harry Potter's whispered mutter,
"Luminos!" lights his path to the dormroom door.
Then the hallway, lined with portraits,
Whispers "Up looking for more tits?!"
(Ghastly, crass, these ghosts of yore!)
"Shh!" Harry scolds. "Hundreds and hundreds of years old
and never learned the manners of the rude and poor!
You know quite well, much as do I,
that the girls are locked on a separate floor!
I'm up for a cup of water, and nothing more!"
"But we know the secret truth!"
They reply, "About the snake with just one eye!
The house of Slytherin can't have known it more.
There- pant hidden- boy! It's not a toy!
This snake that rises and brings you along to the hall,
each night at four!
Go beat this snake that makes you wake,
and when, retired, the snake moves no more,
Then sneak past us, you liar!
Back inside, to sleep and snore!"
Harry, miffed, surprised, and stymied
Lowered his lenses, thinking of Hermione,
and evil eyed the portraits that he stood before.
"Repeat a word of this to my friends,
and your days are done with Gryffindore."
Thus he growled from deep in his core.
"And is it true that Moaning Myrtle,
so loud we can hear from another floor,
changes the timbre of her moaning,
Harry? Each night we see you out 'round four?"
"Slander! Gossip! Nothing more!
It is the bathroom that I seek,
Each night when I roam around at four,
But just to pee and not to score!"
"To score of course would be a stretch,
For poor old Myrtle, you dirty wretch,
Is but a ghost- no bodily core.
And yet, I bet, you teenaged get,
That you can think of something more.
I have it on authority" (she hinted)
"That every dawn Filch mops the floor."
At this remark Harry erupted;
Green light streamed in like dark corrupted,
Fog drew close on the wand which his hand cupped.
With restraint, he directed it at the floor.
"If you don't deny the words you've said,
I'll expel their memory from your head,
And with them, perhaps, 1864?
You see, this spell is loose,
subject to new caster's abuse,
and I've cast it only once before.
What you can't know will have to go.
Anything close, I can't be accountable for."
Just as the paint peeled back in fear,
a sudden imposing visage appeared.
Professor Snape, his high chin reared,
looked down upon the student here.
"Hairy... Palmer, is it?"
snapped Snape.
"Excuse me sir?" said Harry back,
"I was just on my way to the loo,
Innocently, walking, and I was ASSAULTED here by these two!"
(He motioning to the painting,
and the painting didn't speak,
but Snape raised again his impressive beak.)
"Yes, I've heard everything, and I know that it's true,
you see I've spoken to Filch- He's sick of mopping Myrtle's loo.
It appears there's a boy, with a lightning shaped scar,
Who leaves in a hurry, always with fly ajar."
Snape smiled in relish as he drew out this phrase,
And the paintings who witnessed said an eyebrow was raised.
Harry knew he was caught, and he began to pout.
Snape knew Harry'd been playing with his own trouser trout.
"And as for Myrtle, Harry, leave her out."
Although Snape told none of the things that passed there that day,
For the next twenty years, when the boy passed their way,
"Hairy Palmer!!!" all the paintings would shout.
"Always wandering round late shaking his snake about!"
And every late night, when he jolted mid snore,
Ron would say "I know what Harry's waking for!"
So the next time you wake, at 4:07 A.M.
Don't forget Harry, and what happened to him.
How does that **** feel?
"Like a bone! Like a bone!"
Skin the chicken bones, Nelly!
Whoa Nelly!
How tastes those bones?
"Tastes like olive oil!"
Suck the bones!
Whoa, Nelly!
across the primrose trees
blows the faintest scent of sleaze
the bees all leave their shelter in the mooring
but I will do just what I please
and anyway to hell with all them bees
from what I can seize those bees should be adoring
below the timmyrickle grass
behold a timmyrickle ass
a six legs that old ass doth be adorning
and somehow when I see those legs beneath the ground a'toiling
the thought of all those floozy girls
just does set my blood a'boiling
so I will do just what I please
and anyway to hell with all them bees
from what I can sees those bees should be adoring
"Who be I?
A mystery guy?
One seldom seen among the ranks?"
"An interloafer or a jester,
one set upon mean dirty pranks!"
"A howling mine of golden bars, true
Topped with dirt and slime..."
"Unreasonably proportioned, you
Bulimic vomiter of rhyme!"
"My gifts sometimes inspire fear
(Not a small thought to thank)
So often be it when I rear
If I am to be frank...
But who be I?
And be I known?
Be my secrets all
Unfurled?
Or be they safe,
in another tome,
Where I've hid them
Safely squirreled?
(If one could know
Just half the things
Unknown in this dark world,
I'm sure that I'd be terrified
And foetally be curled.)
But who be I to guess at things
Of which you've only dreamt?
(If Hilary could see me now,
with wild hair unkempt!)
Fully erect, I have come
Perhaps I should have limped
But who be I if I be not
The kind of guy who pimped?"
Like the screams of my tormented soul dark and barren
The pathetic laughter of stupid and naive babies can't escape the nothingness
When I walk down the black lane, alone and bleeding
Casting my clever eyes around at the fools around me
They can never know the depths of my pain and sorrow.
I put on my Naruto t-shirt like a devil spawn
Laughing at the smiling idiots who dance the sheep two step
"Poor fools" I smurk, "they can not see their own absurdity"
Why must the earth be sick with their shallow desires?
Alone, I see their sunken eyes, holding hopelessly to
Rapidly fading memories of the only time they ever had a unique thought.
Aeschylus and Loki gather in the midnight rain
Cursing Zeus and Hamurabi's code
(can it be that their pale hands shake like my mine?)
Slaves to their own tiny lives like ants drowning in syrup
I alone crawl from this burning wreckage,
Using my feelers to navigate the excrement
Like some kind of unimaginable man who turns into a bug.
The girl-who-is-not-quite-my-girlfriend (she says she loves me)
Weeps into a paper cup and I drink down the cold sweet nectar,
"Apes!" I laugh, scolding the lonely uneducated child.
She does not belong here, nor anywhere else,
On this stupid anthill, the cold dying Earth
Where I am the sole survivor among the flames
Put my **** in my sock and my **** got socky
Put a rock on my **** and the rock got cocky
Live in Chinatown so I chew on Pocky
Looked at the clock and it said "tick tocky"
Flocked to the bar where I drink my sake'
Like silent movies but I don't like talkies
Dig Mr. Data but I don't dig Spocky
Put a lock on the door when it goes "knick knocky"
I'm not mean but I feel a bit mocky
Make sweet music like Sebastian Bachy
When I get dirty I put on my smocky
Always brillig like a Jabberwocky, wocky, wocky, wocky, wocky
It's 6cc for my latest rhyme
It'll knock you black and blue each time
With a cascade trample infectious beat
That I'm stamping out with my magic feet
I got twenty six life and fifteen cards in my hand
And you'll see I've got plenty of land
Now if I were you, man, I'd just concede
'Cause it's only turn two and I've got the lead
And your counter spell there can't do [a bit]
Cause I'm hard to stop like a Creeping Tar Pit.
::LEGIT::
My name is Oro
I'm hot to the core-o
Six arms like Goro
But I'm dropped to the floor-o!
Harry Potter, tired,
Tottered, rose, then sauntered 'cross the dorm room floor.
This was his habit.
Each night at four, as if summoned,
up from bed, half-dreaming, dumbened,
Harry (as his roommates, laughing, swore)
Awoke each night direct from snores!
Checking his clock, he finds the hour,
Familiar, silent, somewhat dour,
But never quite less sweet than sour,
His hour, alone, on Hogwart's second floor.
This night, just like any other,
Harry Potter's whispered mutter,
"Luminos!" lights his path to the dormroom door.
Then the hallway, lined with portraits,
Whispers "Up looking for more tits?!"
(Ghastly, crass, these ghosts of yore!)
"Shh!" Harry scolds. "Hundreds and hundreds of years old
and never learned the manners of the rude and poor!
You know quite well, much as do I,
that the girls are locked on a separate floor!
I'm up for a cup of water, and nothing more!"
"But we know the secret truth!"
They reply, "About the snake with just one eye!
The house of Slytherin can't have known it more.
There- pant hidden- boy! It's not a toy!
This snake that rises and brings you along to the hall,
each night at four!
Go beat this snake that makes you wake,
and when, retired, the snake moves no more,
Then sneak past us, you liar!
Back inside, to sleep and snore!"
Harry, miffed, surprised, and stymied
Lowered his lenses, thinking of Hermione,
and evil eyed the portraits that he stood before.
"Repeat a word of this to my friends,
and your days are done with Gryffindore."
Thus he growled from deep in his core.
"And is it true that Moaning Myrtle,
so loud we can hear from another floor,
changes the timbre of her moaning,
Harry? Each night we see you out 'round four?"
"Slander! Gossip! Nothing more!
It is the bathroom that I seek,
Each night when I roam around at four,
But just to pee and not to score!"
"To score of course would be a stretch,
For poor old Myrtle, you dirty wretch,
Is but a ghost- no bodily core.
And yet, I bet, you teenaged get,
That you can think of something more.
I have it on authority" (she hinted)
"That every dawn Filch mops the floor."
At this remark Harry erupted;
Green light streamed in like dark corrupted,
Fog drew close on the wand which his hand cupped.
With restraint, he directed it at the floor.
"If you don't deny the words you've said,
I'll expel their memory from your head,
And with them, perhaps, 1864?
You see, this spell is loose,
subject to new caster's abuse,
and I've cast it only once before.
What you can't know will have to go.
Anything close, I can't be accountable for."
Just as the paint peeled back in fear,
a sudden imposing visage appeared.
Professor Snape, his high chin reared,
looked down upon the student here.
"Hairy... Palmer, is it?"
snapped Snape.
"Excuse me sir?" said Harry back,
"I was just on my way to the loo,
Innocently, walking, and I was ASSAULTED here by these two!"
(He motioning to the painting,
and the painting didn't speak,
but Snape raised again his impressive beak.)
"Yes, I've heard everything, and I know that it's true,
you see I've spoken to Filch- He's sick of mopping Myrtle's loo.
It appears there's a boy, with a lightning shaped scar,
Who leaves in a hurry, always with fly ajar."
Snape smiled in relish as he drew out this phrase,
And the paintings who witnessed said an eyebrow was raised.
Harry knew he was caught, and he began to pout.
Snape knew Harry'd been playing with his own trouser trout.
"And as for Myrtle, Harry, leave her out."
Although Snape told none of the things that passed there that day,
For the next twenty years, when the boy passed their way,
"Hairy Palmer!!!" all the paintings would shout.
"Always wandering round late shaking his snake about!"
And every late night, when he jolted mid snore,
Ron would say "I know what Harry's waking for!"
So the next time you wake, at 4:07 A.M.
Don't forget Harry, and what happened to him.
((VOTE FOR MY POEM PLEASE!11))