I love you,

tutti-frutti !

Half foot above midget,

with new meaning for loud,

you think we don’t see you,

and stack your hair,

red, boiling temper, beware,

braids going up to,

sky-bye-bye, with,


wrestling Titania!

all playing now,

when ever now is,

At the big cab truck stop,

she whaps out the plates,

and sloshes the slop,

I like how she whacks potatoes,

like bum drums,

keeping line by rock-an-roll time,

yelling like in a neck lock,

“greasy, salty, so tasty”,


the gravy meets each blue plate,

she thunders,

bellows, to the waiter fellows,

“no fuckin’ wait!”,

“no fuckin’ wait!”



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