Pure Is Poor


Bum rap thrash scrap playboys on the move on the take on the nickel on the dock of the bay - they wish - cum a cleavage recital through a fuzz drenched vacuous hair-do oh my lord oh yah Bostonian Buzzcock without a clue as to where it's at let alone where it's going but hey Mr A&R Man sing a song for me cause this here's what you want ala linguini truffle talk cross a table so loud'n'clear'n'sanctified'n'pussy induced beyond all recognition of she loves you sucksucksuck replete with a rebel yell of lipstick vogue minus an idea of a clause of a hope of vision of concept of a Coney Island baby in the bathroom with a bleeper and a condom and a way with mouth that ain't no catholic doo-wop so drop yer concrete criticism p(l)us your shaving aching head siree sir cause you can give me the finger and I'll be convinced that you suffered for your art like a good Vincent should on the hood with the Flatbush homeboys fresh out of queer school resent slash vurtkill motherfuck KKK capucino fellatio hip-hip hooray for he ain't no jolly good fellah but he's doing do the right thing y'all like an Italian big-boy yahoo open jeep-hunk cologne plaid minstrel so pleased to make your economic aquaintance temple vomit venture denture beg bowl browser couldaah sign on the dotted line look on yer face all Axl and Dumbo and Onob - backwards is Jesus all 33 with a bullet and a hit - plus the pelvis the Elvis equivalent smiles so sweetly atop the pedestal of hate and hip and hookah all too cyclone and meatball with a feather boa party piece as if luuurve and let live what a drag slag twisted old bag with a droopy personality and torn fishnets circa mandolin wind and a pocket full of tissues to wipe away the art that once penetrated the lollapalooza of all his and her yesterdays so let's be having yer top-gun dollar deer erection minus zero equals you give me what I want Mr. President dolphin su-shi teeth amid the towerblock of granite persuasion and ten slimy alleys with a Serbian slit-throat inflected beauty what a cock up, sell out, sell up, sell down, clash clown revivalist as if one couldn't tell a 501 mellow yellow streak of disgruntled marine piss like a cowboy in heat in sigh for his buffalo damsel in distress or a shuffle shake B-side twisting the night away with a leather calculator strapped to his girdle for that added Mr. Big Shot hung-up in the East Village with a pretence with a cad with a prisoner of so called love betwixt what's cool what's conceit what's the difference and can I buy some?