End of a Year. You Are Beneath Me. Philip Jose Farmer. Zeneszám

Greasy hand up my skirt while the other raids my purse
Friend you've proven quite the flirt
Lips call an offer
Teeth dressed like a wolfs
My reply, "No thank you, I'm good."

Is there any good Idea lame assholes won't steal?
Not that I've seen.
Is there a single thing their floors won't strip clean?
No, not that I've seen.

Oil lamp provides light for the camp
But doesn't scare away the forest
A wild beast ever put to pasture?
Or is it an always constant struggle?

Is there any good Idea lame assholes won't steal?
Not that I've seen.
Is there a single thing their floors won't strip clean?
No, not that I've seen.

Who would've thought you'd address me, well you did.
I've rarely seen such creed.
It's a nest full of a million mouths who are always ready to feed

Oh, you treasure the thought that you're cool
And all but its nastiche(sp?) at best.
You wish you could hold my brain
But I regret to convey that your arms will reach around my balls