Toilet Rhyme

When you Rhyme you got to let it go with the flow

Im sorry if my rhymes are constipated
I dont mean to be too depictating
They just come to me when I am sat on the Squatter reattling my trotters
Oh no here we gowith one huge humph
And guess what? I am sweating like John Doe
Swine squealing like a blocked up passage way
Heres where damage is done of holding it in
Building swill in the stenching feeling
For the four hours waiting
With the constant bursting anticipation
Of needing to unblock yourself
But holding on as you march from the otherside of town
So you can rush to sit on your thrown
And yell out Timber
Pushing it out of your laurrels
Whilst grunting and Growning
Oh what a feeling

When you Rhyme you got to let it go with the flow


Sometimes I have trouble with diehorea
And so my words come out fast and unclear
As I am sitting on the golden arears
With a wet wibbling thing coming out of my arse
Making a warm sloppy feeling in my undergarms
Generating a pong that pours out of nearly every song
A bit like flipany grammer boiling on Piles
As the hole rumbles ready to blow dark thick chunks
Producing something that looks like a black haddock lake
And a smell that is quite clearly opake
For goodness sake we are going to break
cry my house mates who are quite clearly Irrate
As they had been waiting for a while
I cant help it
Just blame it on my piles
which is making me bleed a rampant vile red
And slapping my arse cheeks raw as hell
When you Rhyme you got to let it go with the flow

Identicate!

The human appology is something that forever daunts me
As try to appologies for my very existance
To make you make your faces turn with an ugly sight
Son you are not dressed in plastic
So you are never going to be quite right

Thats why they labeled me special and try to push me out of sight
Well thats what the doctors nearly did with success in flight
Right they screamed lets put him under with a 6ft blunder
Because we dont want a boy with un Ken like existance
Squwarked a bunch of identicats with notes ringing for teeth
And a careless pastiffe apart from lets lock up all outsiders tones
You son you spastic come here throwing me crumbs kicking me in the face
Your a fucking disgrace they lauded
As everything I try just gets laughed at
Hahaha son you must be joking We never want to touch with a ragged thing
Stinging words coming from singing voices
Trip stumble blunder take away tears
But fought back from the dogtors blunders
So I am here to slap you in the face with broken jeers
Look out there I dont give a shit about your hair
And prostheticly beautiful you are
Because lets just face we are all really just retards
Especially to the point of in order to make statements
You have to copy one another!

How Can I Be A Power

I sit behind an empty screen to add an ovuer
To a near tendril sense of desperation
Screaming out in a lone time voice
I need a savoury truth so I can sink my teeth into a slice of reality
Serving it up with a creme fresh clinkering
Falseness is always the way to go forward
So I try not to look at myself with any self conviction
That i may not carry out tasks in a necessary fashion to succeed
Son you will just stumble to your knees
Screams the spokes hitting chambers


I cant help but feel that every time is useless
In trying to fit in with the broken clothes
They tear us all from making a collage of insecurity
How we all break into the same forms of life
Apart from being one of those that exceeds expectations
I am lost in walls of wafted voices
Charmonade insurections of reputability
To count on in the social seconds of need
Please bare source to those who inflict you
With broken skins crackling in the movement

Shall we inflict you with the modern man moto
Of get it whilst one can to the cand on the eye
Break out a sweat when your name is called
For trial and duty of how you must succeed
Indebted to bewilderment voices souring
How can I be a power when I cant open the door for my voice
Power just shuts me up boxing my voice into a corner
Confused and beffudled to be left alone
Sulking with those outside tones
How can i be a power when there is no thorn on my rose

By Jeffrey Johns @ 17/9/2009

The Chateau Wine List

Hey Waiter, waiter what is the best wine on your wine list?

Well sir we have the Chateau Rosie
That will make you go red an pofaced
Like as if you are on the public display

Theres the chateaux Faux Pass
Which is best served with a lardy dah
And false pretences that you can put upon in faces

Theres the Chateau Cordon Plonk
After a tipple will make you go all skronk
And act like a complete plonk

Theres the Chateau Cordon Blah
Which will make you look like you have been
In a blood red spa all singing la dee dahs

Le courvey en vie en rose
Which will make think that you are french
Pose with a pouting tones of look at me

Theres tha Chateau dupree
That will make you splee
and celebrate trable tops with glee
Oh look at me

Theres the Chateau rustic
Which has a bit of an upper lip taste
and leaves you speaking in high ways
like as you can pass for an upper social class

Theres the Duvone De White Ace
Something cheap and fluffy
makes you all roughy and duffy
turns you like a turd in a dress
in disgrace

or you could go for the tripple spree
Of the Courdon du plee
there are so many choices you see!

By Jeffrey Johns 17/8/2009

Little Sparrow

The Vulture in society is casting his eye on me
As I stand scared in a cage
Hearing the racheting of his giant claws aginst my metal cage
And voices are swaying round and a round
Just dont make at sound
I can hear them screaming
When trying to open the doors
Whilst menopause stream on out
And frustrations building away
Lifes just a brick wall
I can hear myself crying out
Nobody wants to listen to this voice
With the Vulture spinning around
In the Wings ruffling
As peaople are questioning my worth

Because I know I made way
For a friend to make the grave
And every day I hear these voices of blame enslave
You my son they would scream at me
You are not worth petance or pitty
They spit with an undignified sence
Of talking down to me and my family
Because I survived a 6ft blunder
Before he went under
Only months was the distance of time
One shock shook another one into action
Like a double sided slap that labled me
The sparrow is who I be

I could feel a little hammlet
Want to burn and blight me
As a stabbing lay blunt on me
Burn my name they would scream
With those ruly tones of authority
Treeting it like a witch hunt
Burning all the proffercies
Not making it clear to anyone
But just only me
For these voices I at times fear
Will get the better of me
The little sparrow that I see
That little sparrow is me

By Jeffrey Johns 14/8/2009

The Listening Post

Lost in the vacuous space of of time
As rough shoddern guitars
Rang like rappids through my ears
With the CD spinning
Creating a whir in the background
As the machine skipped and jumped
From track to track

Clunking up the numbers
As I close my eyes
To see colours and shapes
Screaming Daughter of a Looney
At the hieghtend volume of my voice
Causing Joe public to look
Almost freakishly in my direction

As I thrust and moved to the beat
Hands flapping with pecrussive feels
With 16th beat syncupations
Chanted voices wailing through the headphones
That sweated with a snuggness around the ears
My springy head and neck jerked about
As I saw shapes streched past me

I was completely oblivious
To the growing que behind me
As people turned into savaged dogs
With maingy teeth
All wanting to listen to audio products
As I was lost in a sonic wilderness

With my ears locked firmly
As one extracting wail
Lead into another foot stomping riff
The record store clerk poke me angrily
But my ears where find it hard to escape
But his near Nazi styled prodding
And screaching Look son there are other people here

I looked around and saw gangrinous Monsters
That replaced human beings
Making me humble
And turning me into a quiet soul
As I whimpered a soft sorry!

By Jeffrey Johns 30/7/2009

This is Art

Splintered into cold showers
Looking at the hounding walls
Screaming at me every waking hour
Like eyes looked like they were
Staring through barbed wire
Cutting against the skin
Like Jesus to a wire

Burning a reef above his head
And the ropes tied behind his back
Your suppoesd to be an artist
Screw voices tightening taps in my head
I looked out with my eyes burning
A rough rugged shrugged blue

I am an artist
I just don't want to follow you
And your identicate fits
With your identicate Tracy Emin rip offs
And stuck up false presentions
Of how we are to identify with ourselves
Without words rippling of corrections
To be made and how games are meant to be played

With the snob gobblins and ta ta parades
Screaming yippeee yo yippee yay
What a fantastic display
Of plastic hearted emptiness
Said with the sneers
With an una toneable sense of jeering

This is Art with a deadpan certification
You can't bend the rules
Like the the box you have as walls!

By Jeffrey Johns 30/7/2009