The Epic Making Up of the Make-Up of Eleanor Strasmouth

I don't even. I'm just odd.

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All the old farts gather down on Broadway
Their silent poppers fading
Their clandestine clappers announcing
A death of salesmen
One with talons
Sharp claws
And a power quite fine
Kept in place
By a powder quite fine
Castles curse beneath the sea
I am the one, and you are the me
I am the hippogriff, and you are the stone
Please fart, my friend, and become your own
Got shoes of stone
And guts of pig
Got sick of scurvy
And pent up porpoise
But now I have a purpose
That purpose is mud
Gotta release it from the skies above
Gotta release it from the telephone
But can't release it when it's my own
Wait till it's public domain!
Is it 74 or 128 years after my death?
Or is it all a big waste of breath?
Hey that rhymes, and we're out of time
I've got a big octopus that can close this out for me, anyway

Never the wind will blow the steam
Until the cucumber becomes the dream
A castle of satin
A book of foam
And a man with a white lace and a brown telephone
Dialing 647-922-1111
And then four 2s
He can't accomplish anything
All he wants to accomplish is the death of a king; and a salesman
Oh, the death of salesman
Oh the frosty wind blows, in the dead of night
The Grim Reaper screams at old Barney's fright
With legs like lechers and blood like steel
Who knows what's faevision and what is real?
Cause I've got a sty
It's full of mud
And I've got some pigs
Flying high above
And I've got an apocalypse
On a string
And if you don't shoot it
Then I'll be king
At least of Newark

Creaking backbones
And fine grisel
A man with some basil and a chisel
A man with an esophagus under his wing
A man that also wants to be king
His name? Ron Strasmouth!
A man from New York
A man from Manhattan
A man made of pork
Adam was his brother, and Eve his friend
But he never read the bible in the end
And with that brave chisel, he sculpted David
And with that great basil, he ate Lenny Kravitz
And Bill Hicks ate a sandwich with Mama Cass
And then he took it, shoved it up Ron's ass
Cause life
Is steam
And life
Is a dream
And life is a frog
And life is a knife
Life's what you get when you kill M. Night
Life's what you get when you see Kalamazoo from the moon
When you see all the black people from your black moon
And you look out to the stars and think to yourself
"Why did the orange turn green?"

So says the cross-eyed lamb
The one that bursts into the dam
The one that raises
The one who falls
The one who takes seven, then Spinerock Knolls
I am Cruella, I am the king
I am Emanuel, I am Bruce Spring
Steen!
Never will I marry Nala cause she is a whiffer
She's got a face the size of my sniffer
I make George Papadakias Strombol it up, but when I see a dog, I call a bluff
Cause he's got a hand full of cards
And one on his wing
One that reeks of Elvis, the king
Sing into your mic, Elly
Sing very well
Sing and put me under spell
Swivel your hips
And sliver the dips
And make everyone kiss themselves with their own lips
Put your head up your ass, give a great show
But at the end, they'll all go
Cause in the end
You're just a man with a life filled with asparagus and giraffes!

Casual seaweed
Muckriders' bow
A casual dropbox
Another good show
A karazy Mexican
From Down-Under Armpit
And lots of people
Think he's a varmint
They knew him well
Thought he was great
Thought he had an enlarged prostate
Died at the age of 73
With a prostate that just wanted to pee
But it couldn't!

Bob the Castle
Was made of wood
So was his dick
Though it never could
Rise to the occassion
Or rise at all
It could never go up
It could only fall
Even in winter, summer, or spring
It wouldn't even go up by the order of the king!
It just sapped there, swinging
His scrotum below it
And that fine specimen
Was never emoted
And castles were in the air
Along with pegasi and cats
Pigs flew by with Babe Ruth baseball bats
Chewing his chew
But his penis, it did not flew

Jenkins and Jeckyll
Leroy and Hyde
Slaying the demon
And keeping his hide
Man is Cinderella
I am a black cat
I am the alien
Worse than Dave's flat
He was high one day
Went out on a wing
And he witnessed a very strange thing
Something fragile, and frosting
And life underneath
Something that made his...um...queef
Nasgul and accents
And casual conversation
I am not, nor never, will be a Freemason
Got a dolla in my pocket and a nigga in my hand
And this rap, I don't even understand
I'm orange, I'm green
I'm a fighting machine
I go on and on
I don't wear a thong
I'm George Kevin
I am Jorge Shrinks
And I should really see one, a shrink
I'm so weird
Movements so fluid
And I have lots of those
You old druid
Can't rhyme
I run out of time
Longest yet
Am I sub-dated yet
I am a masochist
With yellow socks
Cross-garted dandelion
Mary Lake locks
Got nefarious plans up my sleeve
Now if only everyone would just leave...

Druid, truant, mox

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