Mate, spawn & die - Ballard Frankie

Hair by mail
tit jobs for teens.
Go broke appearing rich,
searching for rosebud in the fire.

Pop stars fingers in the fans,
the therapist you wish you had
crucifix or lubricant,
government by fad!

Mate! Spawn! & Die!
Mate! Spawn! & Die!

My, my, my, my…

Are those salmon upstream turning red
from sheer embarassment.
Came all this way up all them ladders
without checking a map.

May the farce be with you.

In one corner of the ring
that cherished myth.
Falling in love magically solves
every problem you’ve ever had.

In the other corner
spoon size shredded dreams.
The Gods must be lazy
the moviegoers must be crazy.

Mate! Spawn! & Die!
Mate! Spawn! & Die!

My, my, my, my…

Wrong worm, hooked again
mounted on the wall in my own den.
I’ll talk alone to a firefly
dial 1-900-suk-me-dry.

You can’t throw me to the lions,
I’m Charlton Heston!
You can’t throw me to the lions,
I’m Charlton Heston!

Mate! Spawn! & Die!
Mate! Spawn! & Die!

Yippe ti-yi-yi-yo,
ho-ho-ho-ho,
what do you really want for Christmas, children?

“…mmmmm…
Nice place ya got here, darlin’,
sure wish the hot water worked,
gotta rinse my jizz off before mornin’,
or I’ll itch for a week.”

Rarp!
Damn! That water’s cold.
Agh!
Eeee!

Steven Tyler
of all people once said –
“If men bled,
would tampons be free?”

Omi’god, I gotta goin’
“Now?”
I forgot to feed the cat.