Euw! I feed you schmutz waste—
mess from an old trou.*
Hope you heed my schmutz waste,
junk to read in loo, euw!

Oaf, me; putz, me,
dolt, me; nutz, me.
Ain’t got nothing but junk waste—
eight years the streak

Luck ain’t yours most days—hurl!—
Gall-way fare ain’t fine.
Dumb things I relay—hurl!—
Luck ain’t yours to find.

Oaf, me; putz, me,
dolt, me; nutz, me.
Ain’t got nothing but bunk placed—
eight years, the streak.

Eight years the streak,
I launch doo.
Eight years the streak
of naughty stuff and grotesque fare.

Euw! I screed you ugh! taste—
wretched, bloated stew.
Hope you heed my ugh! waste,
junk to feed the loo, euw!

Grody, nutty,
gropy, slutty.
Ain’t got nothing but bunk placed—
eight years, the streak.

Eight years the streak
of junk ’tude.
Eight years the streak
is not the stuff you’d hope to share.

Luck ain’t yours as days hurl
forward over time.
Though I’m in a daze. . .hurl
lots more galling rhyme.

Dolt me, schmuck me,
so the junk spree
plays on—you’re outta luck, babe:

eight years of weak
takes. . .could be Greek.
eight years—more pique,
Eight years—more weeks.



*could be short for “troubadour”; could be French “trou”: “hole”