(I’m cleaning her house.)
House: grinds, shades, butts, aquarium filters.
Dust mites, porn mags, spoiled milk.
All that trash: “Out!”
What, on the curb?
But the heat, it’s ab-SURD!
She goes, “Haven’t you heard?
“KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF!
“GO CLEAN THE TRUCK OFF!
“Sitting there looking fat,
“GO OUTSIDE instead of BEATING OFF!”
Man, she really told ME off,
So I go outside and I lose the cough.
And bitches sing, “Spring things!”
Spring brings allergies, itches, nothing more.
(Now I know I’ll get a ringer or two,)
(But I’m so sick and fucking tired)
(Of playing ‘rebound’ and shit-faced horseshoes.)
Trash: socks, cups, slides, stale pizza crusts.
Piggy banks, bottles, bud leaf dust.
All the trash: out.
On the curb
Is her ex, standing,
Singing, “Here’s the word!
“Boy, you'd better STEP OUT
“On the driveway, SHORT SPOUT!
“Man plus a baseball bat
“Equals NOT FUCKING ABOUT!”
Man, he really loves to shout.
So I go outside and I lose the pout.
My finger twitches, springs sting.
Spring brings him blood, stitches, maybe more.
“Bite it off, buddy! Go ahead and chew!
“I know that she’s gone from me now,“But let’s see if she laughs the same with you.”