Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
No control, not even bladder control
Welcome to the
Point of no control.
Without a cigarette
To guide your lungs
To hell, I bet you're
Proud to piss your
Pants of your own
Accord and not some
Lack of bladder control.
You want in mad
Cow crop circles
Hope to god some
Alien life force is
Coming to relieve you
Of your menial duties,
Such as scribbling in
Your coloring books
With your red and orange
Crayons trying to stay
In the lines of fire.
Hope gets stronger
But aliens aren't coming,
They stayed away,
Shouldn't you?
Go sell your enlightenment elsewhere.
I've got enough
Morons to feed.
December 9, 2007
Suge
Point of no control.
Without a cigarette
To guide your lungs
To hell, I bet you're
Proud to piss your
Pants of your own
Accord and not some
Lack of bladder control.
You want in mad
Cow crop circles
Hope to god some
Alien life force is
Coming to relieve you
Of your menial duties,
Such as scribbling in
Your coloring books
With your red and orange
Crayons trying to stay
In the lines of fire.
Hope gets stronger
But aliens aren't coming,
They stayed away,
Shouldn't you?
Go sell your enlightenment elsewhere.
I've got enough
Morons to feed.
December 9, 2007
Suge
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
No control, not even bladder control
No control, not even bladder control
