Who the hell mentioned
My devilish habits?
Like drinking from dog bowls,
fingering rabbits.
I thought I was cleared
Of those scurrilous rumours
Like immigrant gangs
The ones full of groomers.
Who would have figured
I like to cause friction
Not only in words
but mostly my diction
Those nazis of gramma
Can suck on a shotgun
Pretend you’re a rockstar.
Who cares in the long run?
I’ll write how I want to
I’ll hope you get tumors
I still finger rabbits
The dog bowls a rumour.

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