I am what I am , and it is what it is.
‘To Be’ is not something to ponder about.
I’m here on this stage with others like me.
We all have opinions. Some stink with such glee
Intending on luring a lusty snout
Into noxious worlds that make the hair frizz.
So, what’s this ‘therapy’ all about?
I don’t have a TV, and that does some good.
Then, when I meet with the likes of you,
It seems you’ve been bathing in pestilent poo
That has oozed from an orifice too well understood.
Now, smell me again? You don’t need to shout.
“Did you hear what those niggers did the other day?”
“No, do tell. I was being one as well.”
“Well, by golly! You are one, for sure!
Why didn’t I smell that as plain as manure?”
“Sir, perhaps your world may be one of hell.
Maybe best I don’t hear. Who would care anyway?”
Served in serpentine segments or cast in crude clumps
Most emerge from creation a nation beset
With too little knowing and too much re-begetting
Of what makes people hurt and what makes life so upsetting.
When one utters some thing that someone would regret,
It’s best to just flush, and thus save our bent rumps.