we held down miles of my own vomit just to get my rocket in the pocket of every pretty lady in town.

(maybe no one hugged me enough as a child, or maybe someone did to much)

complain to the scissors, bite the shirt sleeve.
let's see the look on your face when i make it work.
if every woman was a continent, i would be napoleon.
yeah your body's the sea for me to navigate.
i want to be the superb qualities to your three pronged fingertips.
i'll be the ashtray to love's unfiltered cigarettes, the k-9 nose in your crotch.

To be continued...