These ain’t good words from my raw maw:
My “Jesus!” is amer and it’s rude.
These ain’t good words, way worse than “pelvis”…
use “horseshit” coupled with a bad ’tude.

It’s a wrong say, bitchin’ like a geezer,
got a screech way, runnin’ like a bark.
Guess I’m a bad boy, just a malaprop mister;
I’m a bad boy, with a voice that’s mighty sharp.

Yeah, that’s me, me squallin’;
it is me, me squallin’.

Vocal land mines…squawkin’ uncouth volleys.
“Rude pest, clown!”: sentiments rather hard.
“You are a bad boy; you mouth-foam, but the lather
for the bad words should be soap-borne, you upstart!”

Still it’s me, me squallin’.
Me squallin’, wow, it’s me squallin’ loud;
it’s me squallin.

Then I get tied down…soap tastes appallin’
fin’lly their spite urged: “Tame him, this guy!
We’ll stanch his spree squall; lout gets no drubbin’,
just gets cleaned for words that are vile!”

Now it’s me, me bawlin’,
yeah, it’s me, me bawlin’.

Soaped me coughin’.
Zestfully soaped, me frothin’.