Alchemisland

Counting up cash, need a house in the country

Letting agent cunty, treating me like a rat

Open day with bunting, couples a hundred

Know that’s too many punters

Feel like umphing his guts, break him up Humpty Dumpty

Pull my punch and don’t bother with grumpy

Want two hundred kay, you won’t spare twenty minutes

If you wanna split cake then you better court business

Time to talk mano, while the missus slashes

If we don’t chatter while she’s at it

Hear hissing like a racehorse piss outfissures

Does it have an attic?

He looks at me, another planet’s denizen

His eyes say why does it matter?

His mouth says yes but it’s not converted

His body says that where you sacrifice virgins?

Out she comes as white as snow

Beads on her fingers, hygiene pro

Let’s blow this fascist popsicle stand

More gaffs out here to beat the band

I’ll be back if you knock off a hundred grand

Does the land come with it? I’m like the Bull McCabe

Sending Ned Stark down, his end lots of cows

Put the Yankee away in a fistic way

You ain’t shit if your fourth generation, famine dodgers left the nation

Before any of the struggles and strifes

I’m Roger Bacon’s brain implanted into Roger Casement

Doctor Mirabilis a rebel and scientist

Of all God’s mind, highting Aristotle wisest, highest thinking most comprising

Labcoat is a habit, ideas more numerous than a rabbit’s bedpost notches

Eyes more luminous, descrying things more numinous, despising how numerous

The odious and inhuman debasity of the world, sagacity, aspersions on gospel veracity

I am acid in the face of fate and failure

I am no coalful cart moving along a set track

Suffering no setbacks with stoicism

What impedes action action inherits

I jetpack over problems, steal prize like Paris

Bane of my parents, apparent from a young age

This child may be evil, and it does not behave

Nothing could then constrain me

Rage sourceless and boundless

Verily, each trying trial opportunity for inherent but hitherto occulted virtue to become apparent.

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My sentences will not die pent up, upsetting cot death

I send out fiery serpents among their tents and ranks

I am disorder’s prince, reviled Set of the wars, confusion and disarray

Confusion his flame, floundering fire before which sages tire of consideration and die, sighing

Pushed up the last length by a hunchbacked eight year old with a baldspot and dustrot cough

Fully insane, equal parts Arabian Night and Arthurian Myth

I’m Michael Dwyer’s feet away from Scotfire racing

Take your picture at Obama plaza gas station, then take a plane back.