Lord of the Fries
Sweet Baby Jesus was pickled In brine & served in a dirty ashtray Right next to the rubbery pistachios And an ass-warm Pabst that some Wasp is taking an unhealthy liking to
The slightly damp barman nods At the glass - as if I’d want another After that first beer stalling out Like a crap on a hang-glider
No. I’m good Let the murder hornet here Pick up the tab














