Your Poetry Dot Com - Ad Lib. Society

In the house made of billboards,
where newsprint lines the floor,
there’s a TV in the loo
and fake dinners in the stores,
and yuppie dogs drink Evian,
just like the Christmas tree,
and love is all abbreviated
in the family
with unfounded sentiment
and effortless kisses
and all expected greatness
strapping normalcy to missiles
and lunacy and piracy and privacy
now don’t you see?
It’s all going down the tube from here.

All play and no work
makes jack a dumb bitch,
so toque up for now and
sleep with my lich.
Wait for a week
to get off your ass
go do your shopping
where you buy gas
Siphon some off
to save a few bucks,
then go smoke a stick
and pray for some luck,
you’re sixteen years old,
done failed out of school,
you can’t get a job
and aren’t all that cool
so suckle your mommy
and suck off your dad
and go take a nap
in your bachelor pad.
This is your life,
you won’t have no spouse,
so just take a nap
while you wait…

In the house made of billboards,
where newsprint lines the floor,
there’s a TV in the loo
and fake dinners in the stores,
and yuppie dogs drink Evian,
just like the Christmas tree,
and love is all abbreviated
in the family
with unfounded sentiment
and effortless kisses
and all expected greatness
strapping normalcy to missiles
and lunacy and piracy and privacy
now don’t you see?
It’s all going down the tube from here.

Been preynit since age five
from every guy in town
and just now found a man
who’ll finally settle down
you give your kids a dad
and for some, a new grandpa
though your oldest is fourteen
and your youngest, twenty-four
There’s a gun in every dresser
and a knife in every drawer
your house is a militia post,
ready to go to war
bloodstains on you ceiling
and roaches on your floor
and cracker, what the hell
are you doing all this for?
Your babies all know hate
and your babies all know fear
and that the day the south will rise
is slowly drawing near,
so hear me as I pray
that your wrathful blaze is doused
and just get your kids
the hell out of that…

house made of billboards,
where newsprint lines the floor,
there’s a TV in the loo
and fake dinners in the stores,
and yuppie dogs drink Evian,
just like the Christmas tree,
and love is all abbreviated
in the family
with unfounded sentiment
and effortless kisses
and all expected greatness
strapping normalcy to missiles
and lunacy and piracy and privacy
now don’t you see?
It’s all going down the tube from here.

And kids are driving cars
they could trade in for a house
and sneaking out to orgies
where the unnamed go in mouths
while their old men are at work
eighty hours every week
and old ladies sleep around
while they hardly have to sneak
a handle of Bacardi
out to their shithead friends
I really could keep going
but it’s time for this to end
I’m fixing to go put
some unnamed into my mouth
so close you eyes and take a breath,
and wake up…

In the house made of billboards,
where newsprint lines the floor,
there’s a TV in the loo
and fake dinners in the stores,
and yuppie dogs drink Evian,
just like the Christmas tree,
and love is all abbreviated
in the family
with unfounded sentiment
and effortless kisses
and all expected greatness
strapping normalcy to missiles
and lunacy and piracy and privacy
now don’t you see?
It’s all going down the tube from here.

So, five minutes later,
all the teenagers just boned
and are closing out the night
by getting really stoned.
The alcohol helps too
as the orgy passes out
and the one semi-sober guy
calmly whips it out
and goes around the room
with his dick in every hole
with as much as he gives off,
you’d think him on parole
and now because of all
the ill judgment to be found,
come three fourths of a year,
eight more kids will be around
and all of them go hungry
and half of them will die
and most of them will be whores
cuz their parents will not try
and they’ll all grow up
as pure as they can be
until they lose their cherry
while they’re only in grade three
and Jesus fuck, I’ve said enough
to get my point across.
I really am disgusted
by all this human loss.
I wish that things were different
and I hope that you can see
that THIS is the true
American Tragedy.
And I know it’s really sad
that your kid is like a louse,
but that is how things go
when you’re living…

In the house made of billboards,
where newsprint lines the floor,
there’s a TV in the loo
and fake dinners in the stores,
and yuppie dogs drink Evian,
just like the Christmas tree,
and love is all abbreviated
in the family
with unfounded sentiment
and effortless kisses
and all expected greatness
strapping normalcy to missiles
and lunacy and piracy and privacy
now don’t you see?
It’s all going down the tube from here.

This poem is Copyright ยฉ Butterat_Zool