Lyrics
this here is a story about money and glory
berries, cherries, whip-cream and the scariest horny
mid-forties, three forty, pound shorty
round CHI-Town that was down to get naughty-naughty for me
listen.. here's how it goes, I was all alone
in the Oprah Show studios, crawling slow
between the rows of the seats, I was sniffing the chairs
for only minutes ago, ladies rears were just sitting there
I admit it, yeah, I got a fetish for sniffing the precious
scent of fabric, leather, etc... mixed with the sweat of
flesh when it's squished together and pressed...
and if the impression is still wet? - I get the biggest erection
so as I'm taking a whiff... my neck got swept
with the soft caress of hot breath... I was blessed
I spun around, without a sound, my first glimpse
of this monstrous goddess... a hog-leg in her fist
my beautiful brown, collossus bent down, chompin
on the thick round meat-bone, I was still cautious
and slightly embarassed, so I zipped my jeans up
she just shook her "no" and whipped out some ice cream fudge
I noticed her pockets were constantly full of condiments
her purse nearly bursting with turkey, and with some certainty,
I can say, everyday, I ever spent with her, surely
involved gravy being swallowed whenever she was thirsty
first she, seductively, poured the sweet fudge on me
licked and suckled me, but when I touched it, she suddenly
began grumbling and slammed me with her stumpy hand, fumbling
for the tub, which she finished at once, hungrily...
Rule #1 - when it comes to feeding [listen up]
if Oprah can reach it, then you don't eat it
later her assistant had explained that her last boy-toy
lost his pinky finger in a sex-game with pork loins
after our debacle with the chocolate, she polished five
roast ducks and a live chicken which clucked till it died
now, normally, I'd be horribly sad at that sh** ...
but Oprah's the richest bachelorette, I'll ever have in a bed
or rather, a studio-floor for the most savage of sex
she snorted, and spit like a rabid pig, in it's mess
she gathered her wits, twisting as I grabbed at her tits
and once lifted, some liquid dripped from under a breast
I recognized it, in a second, it was Mrs. Butterworth
no less than a flash passed, she grabbed, her other purse
stashed with pancakes, butter, plates and forks and what occured
was surely among a first for me, she juggled her, forty-three
double D's and accordingly, they squirted puddles
of syrup pouring, it was stunning, of course I fell in love with her
that night we made love in a tunnel full of golden honey
pumped from eleven-hundred dollar-a-piece imported honey-bee's
for the next four, five, or six months we courted
I adored my upper-class importance, I could afford most
anything, so in the morning I would sing and play victorious
melodies on my accordian, little did I know the notorious
Miss Winfrey had developed a sickly intense horror
to the distinct chords of accordians from reportedly
being cornered, kidnapped and tortured, by Gypsy riffraff performers
in the cirus who forced her ass to have orgies, or some sh**
and they happened to play Polka as they poked the porker,
so of course, the horse-lipped whore f*** ing dumped me, sure
and when I say she "dumped me" I don't mean she "broke up with me"
I don't mean she kinda "f*** ed me" I mean literally she "dumped me"
I woke up half-drunk in a trash-track after her crazy ass drugged
the last cup of gravy I had sucked down with my lady
it sucks now, cuz I'm basically f*** ed out of taking the sluts house
and making some bucks 'round the day she's snuffed out
now I'm back to the streets, back to driving some little piece
of crap, at the bike rack, back to sniffing bicycle seats,
in fact, this type of wack sh** always happens to me, it's sad
I must've been some kinda bastard in the last life I had
f*** "Steadman" - I hope you both get cancer
and die, so I can star
lmao, hilarious story...I'd love to hear where you got the inspiration to write this, and if it was just whimsical, that makes it all the more genius.