Random Lyrics Combined With Excessive Obscenities
And The weight is crushing down
On my lungs,
And I can't breath
When it comes down to it, I'm to fucking old for this shit.
What shit, you say? Fucked if I know. If I knew what, exactly, it is that I'm to old for, I'd just cull that shit from the list of things that I do, and stick with what's age appropriate.
No I wouldn't.
Maybe to old to be makin' out with the buds. How many those boys did I sneak a quicky (no, I'm being facetious, I did not fuck anyone in the potty) with in the bar washroom last night? All of them? Fuck no. I can name at least two people I did not make out with last night. And define makin' out, will ya? Cause kissin ain't applicable, I kiss pretty much anyone. Hell, I kiss my ma with this mouth, chances are I can kiss you too. Still, I'm too fucking old for something, give me a minute, I'll figure out what the fuck that is. Maybe it's this potty mouth of mine. Dunno. All's I can say is Momma needs a beer, and soon as that liquor store opens, I'm on my way
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKIt's Remembrance Day. Ain't no way that liquor stores gonna openMOTHER FUCKING SON OF A WHORE COCKSUCKING BITCH FACED CUNT OF A HOLIDAY, MOMMA NEEDS A BEER
I'm okay. I'm okay, I just need a beer. That's not a problem. I am not an alchoholic, I just need a beer some days. And if that's Remembrance Day at eight in the morning, well hell, so be it.
Your ship may be coming in,
You're weak but not giving in,
You'll fight, and go on,
Fighting all of them.
Them fun and funky Swedes that I do love so have come up with a new way of ditching the corpse when you die. Freeze dry the fucker, then work from there, and Hey Presto, no carcinogenes. (What with the cremation and all.)
You'll fight, and you'll make it through,
You'll fake it, if you have to,
And you'll show off the world, with a smile.
When I die, I wanna be freeze dried. Maybe I'm morbid, but I've been a little concerned with the fact that I can't even die without fucking up the environment.
Now, I've got a way. And by the time I kick the bucket (84 yrs, emphysema), they oughta have perfected that shit. I will die in an environmentally friendly manner, dammit.
I still want an open casket funeral, though. They can freeze dry me after that. I need to get in one last grand Fuck You. I want my corpse with one arm out, finger pointed at the sky. I think people would feel better about me passing, if they could make some racist, or right wing, or anti-feminist, comment to my body, and see that ol' bird flipped off in their face. One last go.
You'll be a Real Good Listener,
You'll be honest, You'll be brave,
You'll be handsome, You'll be beautiful
Why can't I get beer again? Oh yeah, Remembrance Day. I'd down one for you, gramps, but I don't have any. So here's to you. I never met you, but hey, I owe ya one. You fought wars, and they didn't kill you. Made you old when you were still young, unforgiving and uncompromising. And without you? They just would have fucked up some other boys life. Paschendale ate far better men for breakfast. But you lived.
I never knew you, but I owe ya. If you hadn't have died, the parents wouldn't have returned to Saskatchewan. But you did die. And set the ball in motion that started my life (technically, there are infinite points in history that could have been the start of my life, but we're working with the theory that it all started when Egg met Sperm.)
Did you die for a good cause? Fuck no. Heart attack. Did you fight for a good cause? Fuck no. You we're young, scared, and living in a trench. You just pointed, and shot, and tried like hell not to be shot back. But you did play football with the Germans on Christmas Day, and that made the history books.
Cheers, gramps, you're famous. You don't really give a fuck though, do you?
Well, Dad doesn't play anymore, but he still loves the marching bands. So there ya go. Something you cared about lived on. It was worth it.
Your ship may be coming in,
You're weak but not giving in,
You'll fight it, you'll go on
Fighting all of them.
And Gramps, without you, I would not be here trying to figure out how to find a beer at nine on a Remembrance Day morning. You shoulda drank more buddy. Then maybe we'd have something in common.
On my lungs,
And I can't breath
When it comes down to it, I'm to fucking old for this shit.
What shit, you say? Fucked if I know. If I knew what, exactly, it is that I'm to old for, I'd just cull that shit from the list of things that I do, and stick with what's age appropriate.
No I wouldn't.
Maybe to old to be makin' out with the buds. How many those boys did I sneak a quicky (no, I'm being facetious, I did not fuck anyone in the potty) with in the bar washroom last night? All of them? Fuck no. I can name at least two people I did not make out with last night. And define makin' out, will ya? Cause kissin ain't applicable, I kiss pretty much anyone. Hell, I kiss my ma with this mouth, chances are I can kiss you too. Still, I'm too fucking old for something, give me a minute, I'll figure out what the fuck that is. Maybe it's this potty mouth of mine. Dunno. All's I can say is Momma needs a beer, and soon as that liquor store opens, I'm on my way
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKIt's Remembrance Day. Ain't no way that liquor stores gonna openMOTHER FUCKING SON OF A WHORE COCKSUCKING BITCH FACED CUNT OF A HOLIDAY, MOMMA NEEDS A BEER
I'm okay. I'm okay, I just need a beer. That's not a problem. I am not an alchoholic, I just need a beer some days. And if that's Remembrance Day at eight in the morning, well hell, so be it.
Your ship may be coming in,
You're weak but not giving in,
You'll fight, and go on,
Fighting all of them.
Them fun and funky Swedes that I do love so have come up with a new way of ditching the corpse when you die. Freeze dry the fucker, then work from there, and Hey Presto, no carcinogenes. (What with the cremation and all.)
You'll fight, and you'll make it through,
You'll fake it, if you have to,
And you'll show off the world, with a smile.
When I die, I wanna be freeze dried. Maybe I'm morbid, but I've been a little concerned with the fact that I can't even die without fucking up the environment.
Now, I've got a way. And by the time I kick the bucket (84 yrs, emphysema), they oughta have perfected that shit. I will die in an environmentally friendly manner, dammit.
I still want an open casket funeral, though. They can freeze dry me after that. I need to get in one last grand Fuck You. I want my corpse with one arm out, finger pointed at the sky. I think people would feel better about me passing, if they could make some racist, or right wing, or anti-feminist, comment to my body, and see that ol' bird flipped off in their face. One last go.
You'll be a Real Good Listener,
You'll be honest, You'll be brave,
You'll be handsome, You'll be beautiful
Why can't I get beer again? Oh yeah, Remembrance Day. I'd down one for you, gramps, but I don't have any. So here's to you. I never met you, but hey, I owe ya one. You fought wars, and they didn't kill you. Made you old when you were still young, unforgiving and uncompromising. And without you? They just would have fucked up some other boys life. Paschendale ate far better men for breakfast. But you lived.
I never knew you, but I owe ya. If you hadn't have died, the parents wouldn't have returned to Saskatchewan. But you did die. And set the ball in motion that started my life (technically, there are infinite points in history that could have been the start of my life, but we're working with the theory that it all started when Egg met Sperm.)
Did you die for a good cause? Fuck no. Heart attack. Did you fight for a good cause? Fuck no. You we're young, scared, and living in a trench. You just pointed, and shot, and tried like hell not to be shot back. But you did play football with the Germans on Christmas Day, and that made the history books.
Cheers, gramps, you're famous. You don't really give a fuck though, do you?
Well, Dad doesn't play anymore, but he still loves the marching bands. So there ya go. Something you cared about lived on. It was worth it.
Your ship may be coming in,
You're weak but not giving in,
You'll fight it, you'll go on
Fighting all of them.
And Gramps, without you, I would not be here trying to figure out how to find a beer at nine on a Remembrance Day morning. You shoulda drank more buddy. Then maybe we'd have something in common.
posted by Impulsivecompulsive | 8:34 AM
2 Comments:
ha ha so who were the two that you didn't make out with? ha ha
Wouldn't you like to know? Well, now that I'm a little more sober, and a little more awake, two might be a slightly conservative estimate. I think I can count a good deal higher than two now. Quite rightly.
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