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That Sounds Like a Pony

de Adam Green

Seven upstairs brothels,
With placards on the mantels,
And ten fish flavoured samples,
With candles in the back.

He was a well dressed suitor,
He had bad breath and cander,
I think they would have liked him,
But he got killed by his manager.

Fuzzy and cuddly he's fozzo the rabbit
He drinks from the nozzle and stinks like a ferret
They bought him a temple with children to play with
Now he sells his skunk blood and talks like a plaintiff

Hello to my red uncles you are my favourite comies,
I'll meet you at sao anthony's and then go to pilates,
Warship, the swordsmen, the multitasking mormons,
That breath up in the shit house when you wrap them in contortions.

God is imodest
Had twenty seven hottest
With forty nine heads in your beds
And yet I'm still your fondest

Take me through the mandibles of pcp and vanderbils,
where PG rated cannibals will share their thoughts on animals
and peanut butter sandwiches will flood the hole that banishes
with sights on things that vanishes but that sounds like a pony.

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