I can't make love when I can't hardly breathe

Wake up; make a peanut-butter sandwich,
get up, do pin-ups, press-ups, squats,
take the ginger patched jacket — stitch
oh my, oh my, is it I?
Roll & frolic & woof
no chit-chat, no raw meat, no bleat —
tuck my eiderdown & soothe.
Mommy & a child,
2 sisters or 2 brothers,
the numb, the deaf & the blind
oh, is it I or is it you?
If it is I, then I don't know the name.
If it is you, let's play my game —
let's pierce a b-day balloon, let's blow a bubble,
let's get into a huge super-duper trouble
I know how to blow & suck
on my squeaking harmonica
oh, I am a no one's I
oh, no one coos me
oh, no one pats me
no one is by my side
after making it a dark & stuffy 'goodnight'.

I am a hog for you, baby

My lovely.
The girl
she wanna know some nitty-gritty,
she wanna nibble at coca,
she wanna get tight on cherry cola
no macho jokes, no cha-cha-cha,
she's a leechy-peachy stalker.
I call 'er names —
I call 'er Daisy, Polly, Nora, Suze,
I call 'er silly, double silly, triple silly, floozie,
I call ‘er whatever I like, whatever she begs,
I eat her out for breakfast
with Nutella, tabasco & rocket salad
my wordy mouth goes bust
when I try vo-vo-vo-vocalise my contempt
plus disgust plus rust plus la-la-la-lust!

Now she's in jail, and it's giving me hell

My nose is a hoover,
my head is a Google Translate,
my future is such a saccharine helluva
of a true Dr Of Throwing Around My Weight,
my liver is drunk on moonshine,
my guilt is drying on a washing line…
My girl, you’d better drink Earl Grey with me,
you’d better feel frail,
you’d better wag your tail,
you’d better be not you, but me,
you’d better start being the knees of a bee.
I need no mockin’,
I need some flirty-grotty talkin’
Your flesh tastes vile,
but I am the Flash & I’m worse —
I wanna you come to & with me,
spill your saliva droolin’ on a pillow,
choke you with branches under a willow.

I'll write a whole verse about your cooking

Sleepy time, flatfeet, heartache —
that rhymes with cupcake & headache,
you choose what suits you more.
I wanna sing a lullaby to the bottle,
I wanna be pristine & obscene,
I wanna melt, meow & act mean,
I wanna travel first-class,
I wanna be down-to-earth & robust,
I wanna cut your face from a magazine,
put it in my bag & leave it in the inn
where I’ll check out and check in…
check out all the chaps and chicks,
you’ll be shiny & whiny
inventin’ a modern language of sorrow
in the dark, in the cupboard, in horror,
but in the dim cloisters of my heart
I’ll be biting to death my Mr Hyde
who dictates these words,
who floods me with warts,
he inhabits my brainland
together with worms, J Joyce & Mr Bones
the latter has ivory cheekbones,
he speaks & lisps & kisses like the French.

I feel that I just can't win

Lo!
Can I be your cruel tycoon
who robs your property & pockets,
make you act like a reckless loon,
make you live on Heinz baked beens,
plain tea, lick crisp packets, no scones?
Make you take dozens of loans
undernourished, underfucked underground?
My capitalist-flavoured sleazy dreams,
your poverty, your collarbones, no means…
Can I be an undertaker,
orgasmfaker & shoemaker?
Can we live on noodles & pouty lips?
Chips, whips, tomato dips, curvy hips?

You keep running back just to get a little bit of abuse

If you wake up at night in the state of a shock
either raped or chocked —
embrace it & pretend that I only sleepwalk.