Prancing merrily in a prairie with encircling parakeets
Squatting over the cool grass as the morning’s dew moistens your ass
Shitting out some kind of gold sludge that you can sell for like a million bucks
Mood ever so gay, it’s as if you’re deliberately dissing Dismay
Enchanted – the date was romantic, fantastic, not even lombasted by Brain Voice’s pedantic concern for semantics
The day has been won, you lucky son –
Or daughter of a dad called Gun 😉