It's official, I am a songwriter.

I wrote a song yesterday. C'est tres simple.


How, can I not think about you every 2nd second
You say you want me, you say you need me, but you don't love me
and I think about you all day,
I think about the way
you said to me
How, can I not think about you every 2nd second



My next one is going to be about how I want a long-board, rap music and lemon thyme.
Maybe to the same tune?

Phat Doobs

Smash my head into a bench, I swear that it won't hurt
Go off with my best friend, your hands all up her shirt

I'll just lie here on the ground, blood seeping from my noggin
While you two peace out, 'getting a room' to do some snoggin'

God you're such a bitch some times, violent and hard
When you locked me out of your house last night, I slept in your backyard

I'm tired of all this shit, your blunt hypocrisies
Whispered 'I love you's, major trust issues, your lack of sensitivity

This poem is a little 'fuck you'- I know I might seem mad
I'm not crazy, I'm just angry, you're such a messed up lad

I've gotten a cold now, thanks so much, from sleeping in the wet grass
I can't even call my best friend, I know I'll just sound crass

Maybe there's an explanation for it , I know I bumped my head
But it doesn't explain the rumors, that she gave you 'fucking great' head

At least it wasn't full blown sex, I'd fear she'd get an STI
I'm glad to now call you my ex, you sleazy, dirtbag guy.

yo yo

How many legs on two caterpillar?
Morph into butterflies, that'd be killer
Micheal jackson made a song: Thriller
Knew a guy called Ian, last name Miller.
Those last two lines there, they was just filler.
(Gave them time to metamorphosize)
Turn from wormy worms, into sweet butterflies