Itchy Anus
Voice + Piano
Matthew Lee Knowles
December 2013 - March 2014
LYRICS
Itchy Anus
I have an itchy anus,
I do not live in Weymouth.
I have an itchy anus
Nobody calls me Dennis,
I have an itchy anus,
Which is socially inconvenient.
How does one occupy oneself operationally,
When one’s knothole doesn't work co-operationally,
This stinking shit tube be an angry cunt,
Drier than your bloating mum's blunt gunt.
Two pin cushions representing,
That old ducky, crispy Quentin,
Would taste this turgid turtle sandwich itching,
Soothe the scratching arse-kestrel friction.
I’d rather bum an ancient hobo keenly,
Rim Thatcher’s Rolo through the coffin lid pristinely,
Insert syphilitic needles in my tympanic membranous drum,
Then whore myself out in a no-holds-barred Mumbai slum,
Tie my fucking foreskin to a speeding fucking bullock,
Sally superman's wheelchair over my spunk-soaked stomach.
Wriggling my cancerous overgrowth on the bus,
Constructing crop circle crap circles in my seat,
The guy opposite has got me sussed,
Appreciating the view with coprophiliac lust.
Squeezing back-passage fleshy nodules,
Little rubber heads on my bunghole modules,
Hanging gardens of Babylon;
Can't even look at piled carpet,
Or pick from a bunch of grapes.
Almost orgasmic orgiastic glee,
Writhing and caressing, with starry eyes,
Slushing my ravioli from side to side,
Smelling my smelly stained sausages,
Each tip looking like Pollock sprayed corsages.
Pet cockroaches down my pants,
Nibble on the flaky flesh,
Nearly as good as fire ants,
Covered in week-old crème fraîche.
Ring-piece rosebud chocolate starfish menstruation,
Bacterial fungal viral parasitic orchestration.
Dangers of self-corrective surgery,
Dirty mirrors, in secretive urgency,
Clench to keep the blood from flowing,
To stop the red stuff bloody showing,
My shoddy bodily meat wreck stitching,
Doing little to lull the fucking itching.
Walking like a retarded castrato,
Using all influence to refrain from farting,
The dramatic skin seas theatrically parting,
I have an itchy anus [x4]
I had an itchy anus [x3]
I had an itchy.
Itchy Anus
Voice + Piano
Matthew Lee Knowles
December 2013 - March 2014
LYRICS
Itchy Anus
I have an itchy anus,
I do not live in Weymouth.
I have an itchy anus
Nobody calls me Dennis,
I have an itchy anus,
Which is socially inconvenient.
How does one occupy oneself operationally,
When one’s knothole doesn't work co-operationally,
This stinking shit tube be an angry cunt,
Drier than your bloating mum's blunt gunt.
Two pin cushions representing,
That old ducky, crispy Quentin,
Would taste this turgid turtle sandwich itching,
Soothe the scratching arse-kestrel friction.
I’d rather bum an ancient hobo keenly,
Rim Thatcher’s Rolo through the coffin lid pristinely,
Insert syphilitic needles in my tympanic membranous drum,
Then whore myself out in a no-holds-barred Mumbai slum,
Tie my fucking foreskin to a speeding fucking bullock,
Sally superman's wheelchair over my spunk-soaked stomach.
Wriggling my cancerous overgrowth on the bus,
Constructing crop circle crap circles in my seat,
The guy opposite has got me sussed,
Appreciating the view with coprophiliac lust.
Squeezing back-passage fleshy nodules,
Little rubber heads on my bunghole modules,
Hanging gardens of Babylon;
Can't even look at piled carpet,
Or pick from a bunch of grapes.
Almost orgasmic orgiastic glee,
Writhing and caressing, with starry eyes,
Slushing my ravioli from side to side,
Smelling my smelly stained sausages,
Each tip looking like Pollock sprayed corsages.
Pet cockroaches down my pants,
Nibble on the flaky flesh,
Nearly as good as fire ants,
Covered in week-old crème fraîche.
Ring-piece rosebud chocolate starfish menstruation,
Bacterial fungal viral parasitic orchestration.
Dangers of self-corrective surgery,
Dirty mirrors, in secretive urgency,
Clench to keep the blood from flowing,
To stop the red stuff bloody showing,
My shoddy bodily meat wreck stitching,
Doing little to lull the fucking itching.
Walking like a retarded castrato,
Using all influence to refrain from farting,
The dramatic skin seas theatrically parting,
I have an itchy anus [x4]
I had an itchy anus [x3]
I had an itchy.
Itchy Anus
Voice + Piano
Matthew Lee Knowles
December 2013 - March 2014
LYRICS
Itchy Anus
I have an itchy anus,
I do not live in Weymouth.
I have an itchy anus
Nobody calls me Dennis,
I have an itchy anus,
Which is socially inconvenient.
How does one occupy oneself operationally,
When one’s knothole doesn't work co-operationally,
This stinking shit tube be an angry cunt,
Drier than your bloating mum's blunt gunt.
Two pin cushions representing,
That old ducky, crispy Quentin,
Would taste this turgid turtle sandwich itching,
Soothe the scratching arse-kestrel friction.
I’d rather bum an ancient hobo keenly,
Rim Thatcher’s Rolo through the coffin lid pristinely,
Insert syphilitic needles in my tympanic membranous drum,
Then whore myself out in a no-holds-barred Mumbai slum,
Tie my fucking foreskin to a speeding fucking bullock,
Sally superman's wheelchair over my spunk-soaked stomach.
Wriggling my cancerous overgrowth on the bus,
Constructing crop circle crap circles in my seat,
The guy opposite has got me sussed,
Appreciating the view with coprophiliac lust.
Squeezing back-passage fleshy nodules,
Little rubber heads on my bunghole modules,
Hanging gardens of Babylon;
Can't even look at piled carpet,
Or pick from a bunch of grapes.
Almost orgasmic orgiastic glee,
Writhing and caressing, with starry eyes,
Slushing my ravioli from side to side,
Smelling my smelly stained sausages,
Each tip looking like Pollock sprayed corsages.
Pet cockroaches down my pants,
Nibble on the flaky flesh,
Nearly as good as fire ants,
Covered in week-old crème fraîche.
Ring-piece rosebud chocolate starfish menstruation,
Bacterial fungal viral parasitic orchestration.
Dangers of self-corrective surgery,
Dirty mirrors, in secretive urgency,
Clench to keep the blood from flowing,
To stop the red stuff bloody showing,
My shoddy bodily meat wreck stitching,
Doing little to lull the fucking itching.
Walking like a retarded castrato,
Using all influence to refrain from farting,
The dramatic skin seas theatrically parting,
I have an itchy anus [x4]
I had an itchy anus [x3]
I had an itchy.