Kleen Eks

The Earth a snot-rag for our crowd

to wipe our noses on and chuck

so long’s we always pray out loud

and never seem to give a fuck

about consequence to thems’ats later

they’re late, that’s their fault

should’a got here sooner

Praise the Lord, Oh! Praise the Lord!

Who made this fair and pristine world

for us to wipe our dripping snouts

and Lord help anyone who doubts

we’re right. We are creation’s crown

count profits up then split, go South.

Those bitter sickos, dirty mouths

don’t know a decent way of life

Th’earth’s a rag f’rus to blot

our spincters’ emanations, hot

and brown from poisons spewed

by money workin, jobs secured

(so it is good) though we’re all screwed,

think healthy breath and drink’s ensured.

Have no connection to those blues

about the way we come around

to what we’ve trashed, can’t just move on

a-westward. Cyclic, not linear, round.

Got it? (Who, US?)

Earth’s smart-assed moron.


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