Sassy mouth-pouts spout saliva stalactites
Troops of roots tied tight in the mouth roof
As she chews the mucus just like juicy fruit.
Short-ass kid who thinks she’s cute
But kick her to the kerb if she won’t mute:
Kerb meet girl, girl meet boot.
To tell the truth, couldn’t do that to a youth
Who ain’t big enough to fill one of Stormzy’s shoes.
And the square root of four is two, too true,
Two blue Creeper creps protect each step
In a hench leather case, ensuring any escape
Is a waste of space rather than a bonafide race.
Internal kinder egg legs, milky white choc,
Out of sight bar the ankle tops:
Spotty socks rolled down beneath the roll ups,
Dark denim designed for daily dilly-dallying
Sashaying around in a camo green bomber jacket
The sort you’d see on Kanye West,
But I guess second best will suffice,
Now she’s asking ‘who’s Jamiroquai?’
Fuck man, this girl needs to recognise…
Take that Metro and cover it in petrol,
Now light a match and let go,
Like, right away. Now, from the get go.
Take your little hamster cheeks, sit down in your seat
And enjoy the fucking dairylea lunchable
That, I guess it’s your brother, gave you to eat.
Just shut up and eat.
Damn…