When I got better from the mumps
Yes, my swollen nut and neck shrunk
But, though subtle, I can smell distinctly
Some sick and swollen stink, still to this day stays with me
Inert as some dumb tart from Illinois
In a shirt that says "I heart Michigan boys"
But it's oy, still steel as a goy's gut
Oh so concealed in the crease but
Slow pitching like a Vatican priest to be Pope -- what?
Dope. So every morning wake up with hope
And at night fall asleep at the end of your rope
Alone pretending to cope

As ill as I am, I am
But with all that's well I'll yell
Good god, what the hell, what the fuck
A white dove on the hood of a two-ton truck

It took me 30 years to learn my patterns
Just for shit to turn weird in my return to Saturn
I feel the freezing creep of greedy sleep sneaking in again
I'm dangling
Oh I don't have to pull a shitty fortune from dessert
Like the piss poor son of a serf to know what I'm worth
I know what I'm deserved of
A freaking dirty dove dead
And a bag of bread from a sellout club
But will you spell out love in the lashes life serves up?
Or am I just a red bump in the rash of cash worship?
Lord. Huh? Whats up?