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Ruth, The Truth, Bob, and The 3-Fingered Man (Talk This, Talk That : Revisited)
It's happened once again
thirty fives flirtn'

I don't mind, I'm just goin' with the jive

Her red hair cascading down
And bright red lipstick

Spilling wine on her Asian white dress
Right on her breasts
I'm looking down
at her form
and her modeling hands
Her tight twad tits
as Hacked duck is being served

She drops her tickets
I bend down
Glancing at her legs
Upwards towards her pussy
or maybe just her number

She thinks I want a lay
When all she is, is a drunk
A dumb mother fucker
in an art world she shouldnt be in

I ask her to model
Thinking about the cauliflower
She cringes at the words I mouth
Makes a face and two and three

I discover her insides
By slipping up her skirt
She admits to me
I leave with my Sam Adams
and say...
"You are a FUCKIN' RACIST!!"

leaving just okay
Drinking along
Observing the owns
All I have to say
Is goodbye today

Give me the dough
Give me the crackers, the cheese, the grapes
Let's have a black party
a black tie
I am an artist
I'm going to die

She wanted my cock
She wanted his
But she didn't want Bobs
And thats what bothered me that night

She wanted two youngin's
To wrap her aged legs around
Pumping cocks
but all she got
was a bit of reality
as we were 'insecure'

I put on my pleasure
and held my bible
remember her fish tails
walk out gleaming
of confusion, lust, and joy
I say fuck you
goto hell

 1998 David Greg Harth