I was only doing my job
When his throat collided
With my innocent knee
And then wouldn’t stop
I just can’t understand
What all the fuss is about
I mean it was his own fault
He shouldn’t’ve been black
POTUS POOTS FORTH ANOTHER
“Wake up, Pop, you have to meet the press.”
“What is it this time? Why can’t I just tweet?”
“This Harvey thing’s too big. You have to meet.
And be careful not to look like you couldn’t care less.”
“Why don’t you go, Ivanka, in a slinky low-cut dress?
Distract ’em. Let your booty take the heat.”
“But you’ll be on TV, centre stage, comfy seat.”
“Well in that case … Oh no! Look! My hair’s a mess.”
Now he’s in make-up sat polishing his schtick
And figuring out ways he can stroll off with some big money.
“I’ll have him deported.” “I’ll make Mexico build a big wall.”
“I’ll nuke him.” “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
Trouble is while thousands are suffering yer bumpkin’s so thick
He thinks “this Harvey thing” is an invisible six-foot bunny.
NOTE Any prurient innuendo or double entendre is fully intentional.
Some song! Some performance! (Warning. Sexual content.)
NEXT – Jacques Brel
Naked a sin
An army towel, covering my belly
Some of us weep, some of us howl
Knees turn to jelly, but Next! Next!
I was just a child
A hundred like me
I followed a naked body
A naked body followed me, Next! Next!
I was just a child when my innocence was lost
In a mobile army whorehouse
A gift of the army, free of cost. Next! Next! Next!
Me, I really would have liked a little bit of tenderness
Maybe a word, maybe a smile, maybe some happiness, but Next! Next!
Oh, it was not so tragic
and heaven did not fall
But how much at the time
I hated being there at all, Next! Next!
I still recall the brothel trucks, the flying flags
The queer lieutenant slapped our arses
He’s thinking we are fags. Next! Next! Next!
I swear on the wet head of my
First case of gonorrhea
It is his ugly voice that I forever hear, Next! Next!
A voice that stinks of whiskey, corpses and of mud
The voice of nations
The thick voice of blood, Next! Next!
Since then each woman I have taken into bed
They seem to lie in my arms
And they whisper in my head, Next! Next!
Oh, the naked and the dead
Could hold each others hands
As they watch me dream at night
In a dream that nobody understands
And though I am not dreaming in a voice grown dry ‘n’ hollow
I stand on endless naked lines of the following and the followed
The Next! Next!
One day I’ll cut my legs off
I’ll burn myself alive
I’ll do anything to get out of life, to survive
Not ever to be next, Next! Next!
Not ever to be next, not ever
WHAT A STATE!
As I survey a future derelict
I find I’m forced to play the moralist
And even wish to forcibly medicate
These madmen oozing nought but greed and hate
As Hell will have to freeze before they apologise
For putrefying our waters, lands and skies
I apologise for such an extreme reaction
But I should be derelict if I took no action
So I post this despite their surveillance system
And await my extraordinary rendition
As a suspected terrorist they will medicate (at best)
A danger to be incarcerated along with all the rest
This is a “Three Word Wednesday” contribution. (http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2013/07/3ww-cccxxxix.html)
Seed words: “Apologise” (amended to U.K. spelling), “Derelict”, “Medicate”.