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