Well, my lot’s rubbish—dreck scenery—
It’s got a femur that’s a hunk o’ Fifi.
Lots of wastage; dudes pass and look askance—
My lot’s rubbish, lot’s rubbish.

It’s gross, graced with weeds and rinds,
Who knows what out there you’ll find. . .
Honey jars and snot from nose.
It don’t look so fine; I don’t pay when I get fined;
I’m gonna go to jail if the line I don’t toe.

There’s a scuffed-up shoe, catalog from “Secret”. . .randy view.
Junk’s the purview; I’ll show you schmutzing* like you never knew

It’s vile, my lot’s rubbish—dreck scenery—
It’s got the features of a junkyard, you’ll see:
Lots of wastage; dudes pass and look, then blanch—
My lot’s rubbish, lot’s rubbish.

Orange peels and blight; maybe I should set it alight.
There are hundreds of keys
And a gross of stolen road signs,
Blow-up girls with usage signs.
Smelly is my lot’s garbage
When the temp hits 1-0-3.

There is moldy stuff. Aroma’s “heady”
When soiled bedsheets luff.
Gritty grimy site. Neighbors would love it all out of sight
(Drayage workers look at it with fright).

’cause my lot’s rubbish—dreck reekery—
It’s got the features of a bum’s eatery.
Got enflamed: the methane set off by match.
My lot’s rubbish, lot’s rubbish.

Now there’s junk, a slew; in there I did secrete rank beef stew.
Whoa! Before you spew, you’d better get away from too-gross view.

Smell my lot’s rubbish—retch, heavery—
It’s got the reekers of a bum beanery.
Got a name: the neighbors call it “doo’d ranch.”
My lot’s rubbish, lot’s rubbish.

Lot’s rubble, wretched blight,
Lot’s rubbish, it’s looking a sight!
Lot bubbles, wow! the rhin-tease: not mild!
Lot’s trouble, there’s a lot up high piled,
Lot’s grubbish, there’s spoiled vittles, like pie.
Lot’s druggish, there’s old bottles of rye,
Lot’s funkish, like hogs’ logs in a sty,
Lot’s rubbish, it makes your nose sting,
Lot’s rubbish, horrid reek, pique thing.


*schmutz: dirt, filth (Yiddish)