Make Me Dinner

Twas with thine sprightly blunderbuss

We walked the winding road

Wilst winter whipped it's winds around

Snow swirled sweeping round

On Sunday we ate the Jesus wafer

Thine glory is not diminished

But ye that did cleave unto

Mine flesh torpedo

That thou shalt take

Mine flesh torpedo

Whose glory is not diminished

Then you could grab me a beer

And make me dinner.

Her face was thin through vomit

A chemical sheen on her forehead

Caked over a tan booth bronze

Looking at her gave me

a warm scrotal rush that was not unpleasant

And oh to have my stiffened spunk hose

Embraced by the sleek and shiny lips

Lips glossed with

Ultra-lip plumping ingredients

For irresistibly luscious lips

Glazed with unsurpassed shine

Locked around my pole of joy

In a selfless spaghetti suck of love.

Then I'd want that bitch to make me dinner.