Evil Forces in the World

Reflections on ''Evil Forces in the World,'' as well as occasional remarks concerning ''Good Forces in the World.''

Thursday, March 06, 2003

What your life unlike?
It's unlike
Simon Le Bon
Of Duran Duran
Eating bon bons
In la France
Wearin' Sean John
Hangin' with the Shah of Iran
Shah of le monde
Eating red meat at The Palm
In downtown Washington
Where I used to lay my dome
Un mome-
nto, Who stole my bento
Box?
Don't sell crack rocks
For cereal box-tops
You mop-top
Liverpudlians
Your ugly, and
You smell too
I heard your plans fell through
I won't lie: I'm very pleased
So go design some buildings with van der Rohe,
Mies
You bother me, like fleas

So what's your life like?
It's like
A cool breeze,
Wafting through trees
Containing bees
Which sting me, it hurts
Like Fred Mertz
Upon the demise of Ethel Merman
A Sherman
tank ran over my life, but I'm still squirmin'
And soulless
Never eat frozen frijoles
While others are fleet-footed, I am the slowest

Wednesday, March 05, 2003

Rippa-dabba,
Scooby, lippa-fragga
Ragga, skippa-docious
My nonsense rhymes
Are braggadocious
"And hoes just,"
They what?
What?
I don't know, I never knew
Stu, it's true,
I Sway, I King Tech and I stab you
Plus I dabble too
With the rabble, dude:
I rouse them
House them in Council Estates
Then I serve them
Souvlaki on paper plates
Mates,
"Ahoy captain,"
I rapped then,
When pirates were roaming the seas,
Suffering from scurvy and fleas
Brother please
My gold-toe socks reach to my knees
All my enemies wheeze,
Can't keep up with my steez
You know it
Well
Pall Mall cigarettes
Smoked by vets,
By which I mean vet
-erinarians, various Aryans
Harried, I scared them
Never prepared them
For the brown millennium

Sunday, March 02, 2003

Declaration Rap

I don't rhyme about
'fags' or 'bitches'
my thought development
should be described as
rags to riches
when I'm in my element
I'll leave you in bags of stitches
but only when it's relevant
to wit: let me start again
I favor Zen over motorcycles
email over moto-rolo psychos
selling me broken phones and shit
I groan when nits wits
gets fits over the lamest quips
I cut them to the quick,
meaning this:
I'm Oscar Wilde an' Billy Wildin'
buck fucking wildin' to
Guns and Roses
Sweet Child of Mine'in.