Yeah, guess I’m a mutant, man.
I’ve often heard the phrase,
“Danny, you ain’t right.”
Mighta had something to do
With that bullet hole in my helmet.
Wasn’t nothin’ I planned on.
Some people say I’m just lucky.
Close calls been a regular thing.
But, I’m still here far as I know.
I found Jesus in the South of France.
I often confuse it with Mississippi.
Don’t know what He was doin’ there.
He didn’t say; I didn’t ask.
It’s always best not to fuck with Jesus.
I been in this institution a long time.
Where the hell’s my diploma?
Not sure what’s happenin’ here.
Strapped down, doped up most days.
Sometimes thoughts come jumbled up
Bad as Frankenstein’s dog.
Weird mutt, chihuahua with
Spare parts from a gelding.
Poor little fella draggin’ his
New nuts in the dirt.
Oh shit! Those look familiar.
I think back on my days at college.
Days of financial struggle before
All those easy-to-get student loans
That lead to a life of payback slavery.
Days passed without a decent meal.
Me and my homeboys hit the bars
Livin’ on free popcorn and beer
Snitched from untended pitchers.
Eat too much, drink too much
And ya see it later when upchucked.
My pal, Stormy, said that was like
Rippin’ sandpaper up the throat.
Stormy was cool, laid back, easy goin’.
His buddy, Paul, would always challenge him
To a contest of what he called ‘pig stickin’.
Pig stickin’, a game of who could get
The biggest, ugliest woman, take her home,
Eat the snatch, and put the meat to her.
It was a joke, and Stormy never caught on.
He was proud that he always won.
If he was like an Old West gunslinger,
He’d be runnin’ outta room for all
The notches he’d have on his gun.
We thought it was funny….until we realized
He was the only one gettin’ laid on a regular basis.