I Walked In - Brougham

Now the party didn’t start until I walked in

And I probably won’t leave before the thing ends

But in the mean time, the in-between time

You go for yours, I’ll go for mine

Now I don’t mind you ignoring me no more

Like a fully clothed ho at the peep show

Eyes on squint, I call it Chinese tint

It ain’t about a bitch, my life is a synch

Your boy Luke Sick is half retarded

Other half smart enough to know it don’t matter

Care less bout face when that acts like worm cake

Head that’s longer than five minutes to lunch break

Highs to a hurdler, fly milk curdler

Cry, but we’re selling fake seats at the Phish concert

I’m in the kitchen cupcake filling

Sucker MC battling

Got his girl giggling

I jelly bean crushed him

He got embarrassed, stole her see-through shoes

And jacked the pumpkin carriage

Now it’s ten to twelve and she ain’t got time

I said, «Ten minutes baby, cool, I only need nine.»

It was push with shove in the bush with a glove

It was soak and snug, then the jig was up

The spell wore off, so I had to diss her

Made an amateur flick with the evil step-sisters

Party to party, I manage

Cause I travel with no baggage

Unless you count her naggin'

In that case I’m draggin'

Otherwise, I strive to be forever wise

Lies I stay deaf to, but my eyes hear the silent cries

Deranged plane to take our plank on poets

Those who double over moaning

Pain is appropriate

No longer wait for the faith to make me know

Started off drunk, them hoes ended up sad, alone

Little did you realize, I don’t want to get hired

Tired, out of touch

Use my couch as a crutch, much

Mini-mall is murder gripe truck stop lifestyle

Pile on projects of apocalyptic reasons

Ain’t it splended?

Your whole life seems pretended

The world feels large when you’re raised by the television

A tiskit a tasket, a condom of a casket

Drastic measures taking all the pleasure that I’m fakin'

Naked, rich skanks though, bouncing my bank notes

Blatantly gross chapped lips and cancker sores

Pails, pots and pans and a bottle on the kitchen floor

Hand the wooden spoon to the toddler and press record

A poem’s just a poem

A record’s just a record

A kiss is just a kiss

When your sex is misdirected

We’re so far from love and so close to Hell

Thought you couldn’t catch up

But you were chasing your tail

I try to freshen it up

But it’s old and stale

I teach a lesson in love

When you’re born to fail

On my knees, scavenger

Unsacked passager

Unplug your life support

And disconnect your catheter

I know you wear Depends undergarments

It’s not pretend, your girl’s vibing on it

At the champagne brunch

French toast, eggs benedict

I got your beggar, top-shelf margaritas

I’ll feed ya pinballs til your windpipe’s gone

Get your fingers out my catalog

Cause your style’s sour egg nog

Please cease perusing my inventory

Before your crew’s singing blues in the mortuary

I leave thoughts on the window

Like John Davis getting justice

To the butt-naked burrow chick I sip suds with

Sniff closer, her whole kit is so buff to me

Informercials for my lyrical cutlery