Wreaking tough licks like Rocktober,
like a rubber rat, its brain in a vat,
is reeking through her hell. Like
Her thang's got like six vibrant dolors
like fishy nettles stuck to a whale.
Her deathishness, like summer hoses,
smells like olden milk goo spray.
She touches us all like post-Virgin Mary or Brenda
Walsh, like she points at us each day
like a Loch Ness of the morning.
What she points to really isn't like a Frosty shake.
That guy there he isn't like the brightest hue
but she chooses him for her delight. So I was like
Rocktober! Rocktober! O so like, rockingful,
clothed in dearthly-like hues. O Rocktober!
No wonder how like we must so often
skank like when we finish all the booze.
