Here I sit
Thoughts I spit
Loaded with tension
With humour and witt
It's just a bit
Odd and ironic
A mash of societies
Quite lies mixed with tonic
Makes you sick
Makes you vomit
The sounds play symphonic
Around town it's all chronic
Is there a problem here?
No fear - I'm on it!
Don't run away
Just take aim and fly off the runway
Downtown, at sundown.
Until your skin is tanned golden brown.
I'll see you, around...
I sit on my throne with my suburban bowl of burbon
Clad in my verbal crown. You heard them.
Get down.
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