Listening to local girls talk shit again No matter what country Its always the same. They mention celebrity gossip and kids With fashion and insta and Facebook and cribs.
Who owns the best houses, who has the most land. It’s always the groups of young students who stand, On their parents success with their liberal ideas Never argue the gendering choice if you’re queer.
A cultural mix of unusual types With a sprinkle of outdated views filled with hyped Up emotions that’s lost on a table of tits With the young token ‘simp’ who’s absorbing the hits…
Of the man hating short haired unflattering ‘Them’ Where the fuck are the red blooded hetro sis men? I’m their tight fitting shorts and their long wavy hair I’m afraid it’s the end of this race drawing near.
Which the moody French look of the substitute twat I’m a little bit scared that I have what they lack Yet I’m old and infirm, but a little bit cool Even though me and them spend our days stuck in school.
Well I started this rant sitting here with ears cocked Was expecting this convo with young girls to rock But my God I would rather blow job a twelve bore Than to sit and be angered by this shit some more.
Don’t take what I write as a sign of my health As my mental capacity starts to gain strength And I want to make murder my thing once again To be able to sit and get rid of this pain
But by fuck I can’t stop on this braw Sunday eve Even though these two gays by me side up and leave As they look at my words and they ‘tut’ with a sigh Once again I don’t care as my words leave to fly.
[An aside to my thoughts as I sit here alone A young girl on the next table lights up her phone To take pics of her tits sans her bra for her friends I’m afraid I must leave as this pic spells the end…
Of my musings with Jack on this warm Sunday eve As the students beside me decided to leave A last drink in this city has opened my eyes As the day past tomorrow, my WIZZAIR plane flies.