Written by Peter Burnett Peter Burnett
I sling from the waist with pawing, but I don't just sit here drawing. Next time I plan to release the beasts I'll give you a call first. But not this time because there'll be no warning. People flip, switch, some turn fake about some nonsense correspondence that I just can't relate to. Or they go mad in their cars. The word cashflow sounds funny to me but if you can watch money change hands then it doesn't matter what type or range of shit you talk cause you ain't got to prove that life twists and turns and makes you crazy to make it work. Flip people flip, take switch, some turn fake about their true and inner centre, when it's cows that have given them this dementia.
Or is it lambs? I'm not penetrating your nostril with the Lamb-Base gospil not even mentally connected with all 12 apostles. Instead I penetrate each and every enemy that pretends to be friends to me and that's my real work done. Diet fitness relationships self help, watch your back, pump your crackbutt baby but it's not self-help if you read it in a book, your mind is there to go buckwild. So it's the move not a scream or a cry, or a bark, more like a spark, I say to you neurotics that I hope to see ya tremble like an alcoholic in the dark, muscles tighten up. What's that? Lighten up! Imma take your baguettes and wrap em round your head. You made me up, created that huck and skinned with your verb-money superior people to you because they embarrassed you to fuck, and the face of that schmuck remains once you've looked in the mirror, I sit back and observe the scenery, then with 6 beers in me tell you just what it meant to me.
These commonplaces are not shared by all.