Your so Cher that I wanna choke on darkies poop deck, sing an ode to adolescent love gone wry & 'stray, and consider anything other than breaking your damn neck-- enraged that your drag-queen dress decided to stay. Had to make a comeback, express the latest & deepest pain. Your loss cursed my mood, left me with flaccid anguish, a vulgar mass of emo assfudge proving that you're so vain; curse the cunt who puked up the girl we love to cherish. Couldn't hack it in the fuckin jungle with a pimpled pen, but your voice could spew a soprano that got a spot on HBO. Your grace that of a blonds, even with hair dyed RedHotZen, pop-slamin the charts cuz Sonny says you suck dick too slow. I pray that you'll fucking convert back to an ugly lesbian, but after getting the ranker shaft, you came back again? Just scream your frustration with one last squeal, do the pubescent guilt trip & use a razor made of steel-- and when your pimpled pen and wrists bleeds dry, don't expect to hear me wish you farewell or say goodbye: For dykes who do the drag and dance like a tragic Madonna buttfucked in Tijuana? I carve gravestones that say "Sayonara".