Does whatever a spider can
Spins his web, climbs the walls
Kicks your daddy right in the balls
Steals your mamma when her car stalls
Here comes the Spiderman
Kickin’ cops in the can
Fryin’ up the bacon
Cookin’ pigs in a pan
Robbin’ kings when he can
Cleanin’ your clock like Spic-n-Span
Sleepin’ on the beach, workin’ on his tan
We call him Best Deal Dan
Watch out, here comes the Spiderman …
Silly Mike, Silly Man
Rejects Jehovah but worships Pan
Posts nursery rhymes on the front page because he can
Sits at home, on his ass
On the first of the month, he smokes his grass
By himself, no “puff, puff, pass”
He smokes it all, he’s got no stash
Here comes the Mikey Man
Blastin’ his stereo throughout the land
Fell down the stairs and then he ran
The cops can’t catch that Krazy Man
The Krazy Man with a Master Plan
From all the bars Mikey gets banned
For speakin’ his mind to the [Ku Klux Klan]
I’m just messin’ with you Mike, I’m really a fan
Watch out, here comes Mission Mikey Man …
Harsh words comrade, but flattering nonetheless.
Peanut butter dripping down from my chin to my chest
I’m getting by on less, although I must confess
I’m too old to be cornered and put to the test
And if you think I’m on my ass all day
Then you should follow me around on foot
So you can watch me fly up, up and away
As I leave the gorts to toil away
And argue about what I have to say
I’m a walkin’ survivin’ gort-eater, Peter!
It’s an inside joke, bro …
Would you like to meet her?
[Yo Jo (impersonating) Morose Gort]
I’ve already met her,
but did not want to pet her
Hell no, I’m surprised that you let her
do that “thing” to your pecker
Please don’t hold a grudge
for this toxic sludge
I am who you think but shh, shh, wink, wink, nudge
Are you sure that’s peanut butter dripping down your chin?
And not some other substance,
your next of kin?
I know you get freaky deaky
with your chunky monkey
You’re oh so spunky
but not a flunky
In fact you got A’s
in your college days
Was it only a phase?
Were you caught up in a craze?
A rat in a maze
trying to find out what pays?
Which way is the cheese?
Who is it you say that I have to appease?
Yes Massa, Right on it, I desire to please.
The Owners will pay us if we get on our knees
And sell our souls to the Satanic Machine
Nevertheless, me I’m amazed
Out of my lips, for Spidey, comes nothing but praise
except for right now
I’m in some sort of daze
MoroseJew’s back to roam this maze
to stir up a craze
to soak up your rays
to test your sanity in these last days
“Wait!” wait I say,
I had to set her straight
I took the bait
and became irate
when she suggested that it was work that you hate
Like hating work is an undesirable trait
and being lazy some kind of sad state . . .
I tried to explain that you’ve got too much on your plate
That you don’t want a mate
You’re too busy to date
Your thoughts and writings sitting there in a crate
Gathering dust, as evidence for the State that you hate
If you had a job you’d always be late
I said to Kate as I set her straight.
But none of that matters,
except for your wasted baby badder
or the bumps on her lips
from the Silly Man’s splatter
or the pee in your pants
from your weak stinky bladder
I’m just playin’ with you
I hope you’re not madder?
I hope my rhyming doesn’t make you sadder
I hope you aren’t going to search for a ladder
I’m joking of course
but have no remorse
and won’t be forced into changing the course
especially since you bumped that last post
about a gift economy that would help us to cope
with being at the end of our rope
and feeling helpless, without any hope
Damn it Janet, you must be on dope!
But so must I
and one day I’ll die
Hopefully with a smile on my face and love in my heart
Not some shit in my pants, embarrassed to fart
I took it toooooo far . . . I stepped in tar
my humor is funny to me,
to me I’m a star.
I’m only kidding . . .
you can delete this if you want,
it’s kind of vulgar because I just said cunt.
Uncle Mike won’t edit that out into a bunt
One day soon, we’ll be passin’ that blunt
Oh no, now look what I’ve done,
We’ve gone over the edge, and now it’s begun
I’ve summoned the demons –
We’re the three blind mice
See how we run!
Yet Scott’s far from blind
I’m amazed at how much he sees
Now he’s dotting his i’s and crossing his t’s
He’s got my number
To him, psychoanalysing me is a breeze
He doesn’t charge me by the hour
He does it for free!
He’s right on point about my fate
But I stole this time so I could create
And now the hour is getting late
Some folks are disturbed by my enjoyment
They want me to act like I want gainful employment
Writing code can be such a bore
I don’t want to be Bill Gates’s little whore
So I clutch my pen and my pad
I don’t think rhyming is just a passing fad
As long as we keep it tongue-in-cheek
We can go back and forth like this each week
You don’t have to rhyme like Eminem or Shakespeare
Just spit it out and dispel your fear
There’s nowhere left for us to run
We’re getting silly, spitting words for fun
Up our sleeves we hide our tricks
And we’re doing all this just for kicks
It’s funny stuff, we call it Comical Cant
On and on, we’ll rave and we’ll rant
Get your brothers out of those tanks
They’ld be better off robbin’ banks!
When in a jam, like rhyming a word with orange
You might have to wing it, and let us clean up the carnage
Make it up off the top of your head
Then put on your vest – don’t let ’em fill you with lead
[Joe You Get A Job]
Give me your ears
While I fill them with cents
That would be mine
And the number would be two
Does that make me cheap?
Does that make me a jew?
I mean no offense
So don’t protest
My ryhmes are fine
Is that you B.S.?
Sittin on my chair from
When I got an
Bout’ how I think too much
Or is it not enough?
About these truths we seek
You know these truths I speak
Will we be any closer to these
By the end?
So many roads to take
So don’t procrastinate
I’m on one, ya’all are on another
I blame it on Mammon
That I live with my mother!
But I’ve got you
Got you in my sights
Mammon you fucker
Get ready to fight
You will lose
And I will win
I hope I’m right
Can’t start over again
But I think this is
Supposed to be
About having fun
But I’ve had none
Since stanza one
So I’ll say where I’m from
Then this will be done
I’ve come from whywork
And to lurk
Don’t believe what you hear
I am not a jerk
What you get with me
Will vary you see
on what I perceive
To stupid shit
For did you know
Science knows not
Of how they fly
Or how they go
Or maybe they do
What do I know?
Wow, I'm impressed, intrigued and inspired by all of this participation that's transpired and the conspiracies . . . Oh how they've conspired to back us into a corner and make us perspire. But wipe your brow and don't sweat the technique Comical Cant seems to be a good place to speak A place we can speak to the freaks and the meek The people who feel us and the vision we seek All of us . . . each one of us is unique and none of us . . . not one of us has reached our peak. We're still climbing that mountain and pissing in fountains Rebelling against the Owners and their Power Boners. Spittin' in Dick Cheney's face and water boarding his wife Torturing the Cowboy and threatening his (way of) life So silly, so free and so strong You can't shut me up because you know I'm not wrong They know that I'm right and am up for a fight So they'll probably kidnap me in the middle of the night. And if they do then I'll be screwed Literally, in Guantanamo I'll be screwed by a Bonobo, A rapid "Pan paniscus" who wants to make me his toy His biped toy that he'll get to enjoy. I'm being funny Dressed up like Bugs Bunny With a brand new chainsaw, and ten sacks of money Fryin' eggs with Mike's bacon You said you like them runny?
But I think this is supposed to be about having fun But I've had none Since stanza one So I'll say where I'm from Then this will be done [Yo Jo] Are you insane? You've just begun And have said a ton And have made this fun With the rhymefactory up we don't have to sob We can laugh through our frustration and mock the mob Hock loogies on our Rulers and los gortos who are sooo proud of their "yobs". Slaves to kitchens and lawn-mowers they'd be better off if they robbed Are you down with OPP? Well let me see I'm down with OPP if the P is for me If the P is for chi If you give me a key and invite B [The Squirrel] I read your rhyme with a smirk When you proclaimed that you're not a jerk It's all good now; I've since decided That you're merely rather misguided Now if you'll grant me pardon, I'm going to go eat my leftover Olive Garden. [Mike] Oh my savage gods, she begs his pardon I like it so much it gives me a hard-on Now, for old times sake, I'm weilding pitchfork and rake I'm about to make yet another mistake They love to see a train wreck But, hell, what the fuckin' heck I thought I warned ya'all about the most dangerous weapon hinged at the base of my neck! [Yo Jo] We're all misguided if we don't look inside Because we are our own guides on this crazy ride At least until we become aware of our blood and our bones And learn how to communicate with each other without cellphones The way our ancestors once did, the ones who roamed The ones who called the earth mother home Without beepers and whistles and sirens and noise In the unconscious dreamworld we can communicate without all these toys We are all that is, if only we knew We could all live comfortably in the paradise reserved for only a few With the absence of love life just isn't fair With the cremation of care they vow not to share [Mike] Welcome home You-Get-A-Job I know you're not an arrogant slob Like Bill Wilson or Doctor Bob I'm in agreement with the chi monkey And I know he would be a friend to the junky And the poor girl birthing life next to a donkey So, I welcome you and the Squirrel with open arms I'm a little stunned by your charms Maybe we can meet up and create a web of commune farms! And ... oh, I'm a soul with a Broken Spirit But this soul's intentions are good So I wonder why anyone would fear it That I do what I do and did what I could