The Belly
'Hello, Mr. Scott. I agree. And I'll be waiting with
the mob when the bastards let the bastards free.
It's nothing but a deal and the real killer lives with
the stamp of the legitimate
How far can I spit? How far can I spit?'
And you are not forgiven for what I'm coming to expect
from you
And I will not go sniffing around the belly that
greases you
We'll drive to the country and I'll scatter your wits
about
Among the garbage white trash throws out
'Does it hurt you when I kiss you there?
Does it hurt you when I kick you there'
'Mr. Scott, I am surprised. But I'll be waiting with
a bottle and I'll throttle their neck if you bring the
cheque.
We won't need a line up and you'll never have
to twist my arm or ring my wrist. I know that
terrorist. I know that terrorist.'
And you are not forgiven...
'Okay, Mr. Scott. Stop crying and praying and pissing
and complaining. I'm not going to stop with the names
you're naming.
We both need a secretary sorting
through the records and a robe without a tilt to
establish the guilt, agreeing to such a degree we
can't help but cancel each other out.'
And you are not forgiven...
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