- -- - [[ This is more like what I call a free-form lyric, ]] [[ not really sure how I'd go about putting this to music.]] - -- - This poem is a whore, with a wilted cunt, sagging tits, her torn twat bloody & spent-- my bloated shaft bent, buttered, drooling. |--- -- ---| I feel no shame, this momentary discharge is my claim to fame. I feel no shame, this momentary discharge is my claim to fame. |--- -- ---| Yeah... Ever had a raging gang bang in a fit of youths sexual inspiration, left afterwards to pout over the grating humor of having a twat that queefs like a collapsed rectum? |--- -- ---| I feel no shame, this momentary discharge is my claim to fame. I feel no shame, this momentary discharge is my claim to fame. |--- -- ---| Ah..., no? Well my friends, that's the condition of this poem, & folks, me and my compadres are indeed well spent-- altogether drained, satisfied with being sadistic, callous & so amazingly naughty 'n pleased to be dirty. |--- -- ---| I feel no shame, this momentary discharge is my claim to fame. I feel no shame, this momentary discharge is my claim to fame. |--- -- ---| Now we can declare this sad, limp, & raped-ravaged slut dead: Fucked to death until our creamy shaft sweat was all her debased, abused cunt had left to bleed-- sputtering 'n uttering a final whimper; her body imprinted in the mattress like a chalked body left in the middle of some destitute alley. |--- -- ---| I feel no shame, this momentary discharge is my claim to fame. I feel no shame, this momentary discharge is my claim to fame. |--- -- ---| This poem is a whore, her wilted cunt spent, molested, sagging tits pinched red-- her pouting lips buttered cream white 'n left drooling.