blank CD Jamspirations (Complete)

And my lemon drops are filled with kindness
There aren’t any knees any more below the belt
The Bible Belt
Split in peas, soups, sides and mind your Q&P’s
Your mother’s mouth gets droopee
When she’s about to hear
Butch’s brew tang-clang-a-rang-round the place
Sun is dry
Telling why
Asking time
Drop low
Eenie minie moe-ee
Keys climb combs come
I smell the blood of an Englishman
Wasn’t he good enough
Chimed around in the wind
A rather blustery day, this today
He droobled a bit up
Double dribbling in between the swamp cats
Swamp bats clung about the air and landed
Surreptitiously upon the beaks of lazy lovey dovers
Tickled, fretting fingers, a neck obscure time
A last midnight refrain the first train to Clarksville, Georgia, and I’ll meet you near the station at the ol’ blues cafe ’cause I’m sad and tired of all this chum gooey numb sty sickle me down in sit bay catch a flu or two of a common ashtray smells like death in hearing, wearing plastic and rubber cemented googlier eyes and eyein’ Moonbeam pies.  Caught me a cancer and get out of loneliness free jail card parking in my park place partaking of each peachy keen and lemon cakes, stuff back my noses full of homeliness, I’ve got a chili pepper for your doctor’s briefcase against you, class action suits brazen and stupid too shivering boots let go with a one note, bristled with pride for a seldom string.

Rashomon got into the cabinets
Claiming wasn’t there
Blaming could only stare
Naming held her silence with bright yellow cleaning rubber gloves

Artificial intelligent rakes and other implements of destruction came whastling in, ain’t too many whastlers these days, everyone passes out and, intermittently, clap in a shared expression, an applause- it’s over and thank goodness I was just about late for work again- strange dreams occurring on bar stools, bar rooms, beer and those kinds of lonely drinks

Licked me over good change if pace the tongue laps up a second melody and I’m tasting caramel, no chocolate, no peanut butter, no wait, that’s the candy bar in my mouth, belly.  I’m getting real blue, and red I’m getting all cerulean, you understand, I’m up and down cloud lines with soars of seagulls and scores of geese scoring flocks of shifting winds upon the eat shit underneath.  Climbers divers sickly liver little dinky drivers lost on the invention of the wheel

Wouldn’t it be nice to have an encore
Oh wait it’s not over yet
Well then nevermind… And thank you, your welcome

Sounds like the castle level in Mario, but wait no The Princess isn’t here, she’s in another castle
Maybe he knows it’s a Super Nintendo classic about a link to our past, play on my little skull kid, play on
And if love is but a frilly bit of waste about the fingers drippling about ’round the waist in a tu-tu of despair sea anenome any moment could come bursting out and grab you by the tendrils tenderly tickling the undersea it’s gotta be a floral affair in the under deep there.  In the kelpy keep where you put on your diving bell you butterfly find out the riddle of me, mud sharks can’t sleep without their eyes open, loan sharks keep their wallets open.

That’s not Collin’s
I wouldn’t even know
Met your mom
Should have been Ina metal band In high school
It’s a green street annihilation breathing apparatus
I can only breathe in screaming “daddy” at us
Where the kitty cat at at this here hour here?
Rumbly tumbling down to town with the circus
It’s in the elephant line holding tails with it’s  nose upturned
Linking dumbo links like sausages
Download the full video here
It’s a scam man
Gotta kitty virus gonna make you like mice
Unscarred of the terror before you
“Ahh, that must be nice.”
You’ll never jump out of your seat in fear
Calmly reply, “is that train incoming dear?”
Depth perception freaks shouldn’t be driving eye patching
Up lidless liner cups with band aids,
Maine moose may make make mice more many rice cakes
Drab long

Simpsons didn’t do this
Three legged dance night long legless romance
Legally blonde
Clinically ginger
Criminally brunette
Jet setters playing lots of funeral music for the funk Fest in pairing quatrains with dandy dapper vests
It’s your mother fucking birthday day you came out and said “boy are my arms tired”. You’ll get it when you’re older, in the bathroom watching videos on Vimeo of some Dutch oven piece of down home all American apple cream Boston Pie.  Baked Alaska can’t get me THIS high.  I’m grooving off the side of a lifeboat shitting pants into a stream of consciousness after life afterbirth, before it don’t taste so well, so, well, suck it up the well’s gone dry, only good’s and great’s and golly, miss Molly, got my finger stuck up in that dyke can’t pull it up the town’ll start a fight and just maybe I might get a bit of relish on this gonzo hot dog and get me some ding don’t outta sing sight.  Smiling now be rosy cheeks and hunt down the freckles and blast the baffling bark biter with a bit of barf batter, be better for her.


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