Alchemisland

Moronic but when I get on it I feel pharaonic

I also lose the plot. Plots of oddly named chronic

Vacuum packed and doubled boxed in lockups.

In cells I swerved aryans and incels, did pull and pushups,

Did crunches and lunges until calves and stomach toughened.

Dumped all my points into toughness, encumbrance.

All the other stats fuck them. NCR: up the republic!

See legs like I’m beneath the seat,

Japanese upskirt pervert underneath,

Or like a beggar on the street,

I only see their jeans and feet,

See them coming back up the ramp with bulging bags and long receipts

No cent spare to toss to me.

I’ve got a bag, not colostomy.

I’ve got more moths than Ptolemy.

I’ll be buried with half my property.

We’ve scaffolds to stop the walls from toppling.

Moses left, there was no stopping him.

600 chariots, that day the Red Sea was choppy properly.

All my dosh goes on nosh and noshings.

Bruises down my side like I was all night moshing.