I can hear what you're thinking it's so clear,
"He said it was awful, and yet look here:
Two pretty girls...he thinks he should complain.
This is hell? Only pleasure, no real pain?"
Don't worry friend, the bus it was jam packed
With freaks and oddballs and others who lack
The basic skills possessed by you and me
To sit and drink and talk and simply be.
There was this guy - NEUROTIC to the core.
Always yapping: a monumental bore.
"Excuse me sir," this is just how he spoke,
"Excuse me, but I think the toilet's broke."
You know, first it was too cold, next too hot,
Never happy with that which he just got.
He said that he was rich, but couldn't fly,
A bump or dip would make him scream and cry.
I wished he'd left that nonsense in the air;
He'd hear a noise and like a siren blare.
"Oh, what was that? I think we blew a tire!"
I quickly grew to hate this new town crier.
He wore thick glasses and a mustache wisp,
He spoke in a real high-pitched, whining lisp.
Why would someone like that take such a trip?
What was so important he couldn't skip?
His dad was dying, that's what he said,
Needed to see him before he was dead.
I felt a bit of sadness at his plight,
But mostly I just couldn't stand his sight.
[To head to the Intro and Contents for "Heading to Hollywood" click here.]