| ptown33636 |
| Alas Poor Bubbles MJ was distraught when Bubbles died, and delivered Bubble's eulogy, in the best Shakespearean style, in the little Hamlet, where Bubbles was laid to rest. The Cemetery Scene, where MJ and Rubba stand over the grave of Bubbles. Alas, poor Bubbles! I knew him, Rubba. A monkey of oft clean diaper, of most humorous antics. He hath felt me on his back a thousand times. And now how abhorred in people's eyes it is! My nose rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your diaper now? your antics? your deposition? your flashes of monkey shines that were wont to pitch the tent in my nightsack? Not one now, to mock my own spotted thingy? Now get thee to my secret chamber, Rubba, and read yon magazine I left thee there. And have a can of my "special" coke. By PTown33636 |
| Wacko Jack Wacko came to me, With sadness in his eyes, Told me that he wanted help. To pay for all his lies. Although I knew he was a pain, I figured I would try, Now I'm asking all of you, To fund his alibis. Wacko Jack, Wacko Jack, How all your money is going so fast, And it sure looks like a mess, Your career's in such distress. Now won't you lend your hand, Help that pervy man, And fill the pockets of Wacko Jack. Help fill the pockets of Wacko Jack. Wacko Jack, Wacko Jack, You have fallen so far, You're a faded star, And you deserve no respect. But hey, what did you expect, Taking boys to your bed, With un-de-roos shed, To feed the passion of Wacko Jack. The pervy passion of Wacko Jack. Please do not come back, Wacko Jack. Wacko Jack, Wacko Jack, Stay in that Mid East land, Try to understand, We do not want you back, Wacko Jack. We do not want you back, Wacko Jack. Written By PTown33636 |
| Wacko Ain't Nothing Now look at that yo-yo, that's the way he does it, He was a thriller on the MTV. Now he ain't payin', who knows why he doesn't, Wacko ain't nothin' and his kicks ain't free. Now he ain't payin', who knows why he doesn't, Let me tell ya that guys a bum. Living off his buddy some Bahraini rich prince, Buy some little boys to get him some. We gotta clean all the zebra cages, Mow his lawn and trim his trees. We gotta be sure his boy trap's kept up, And we been doing it all for free. See the little wacko wearing Arab women's clothing, The women's bathroom's over there. That little wacko lives first class on others, That little wacko's life is lazy-faire. We gotta clean all the zebra cages, Mow his lawn and trim his trees. We gotta be sure his boy trap's kept up, And we been doing it all for free. He shoulda learned to pay his workers, He shouldn't act like such a bum. Look at that Wacko, acting like he cares for Katrina, Boy he likes to have his fun. And where's he now, where's that? A German side trip, Banging on his chest like he's a chimpanzee. Now he ain't payin', who knows why he doesn't, Wacko ain't nothin' and his kicks ain't free. We gotta clean all the zebra cages, Mow his lawn and trim his trees. We gotta be sure his boy trap's kept up, And we been doing it all for free. Now he ain't payin', who knows why he doesn't, He was a thriller on the MTV. Now he ain't payin', who knows why he doesn't, Wacko ain't nothin' and his kicks ain't free. Wacko ain't nothin' and his kicks ain't free. Wacko ain't nothin' and his kicks ain't free. Written By PTown33636 |
| Wacko The No-Nosed Pervert You've got Roman Pilanski and Thorstad of NAMBLA, Pete Townsend, R. Kelly, and other sick fellas. But do you recall, the most famous pervert of all? Wacko the No-Nosed Pervert, Had a silly putty nose. And if you watch it closely, You can see it decompose. All of the normal people, Have to laugh and call him names. Just do not let sick Wacko, Take your son for pervert games. Then one chilly autumn day, Snedden came to say, "Wacko what you do ain't right, You are going to jail tonight." Then how the pervert freaked out, And danced on an Ess Uuu Vee. Wacko the No-Nosed Pervert, Is on trial in Jan Ware Eee. By PTown33636 |
| MJ calls himself the King of Pop. What if he had been King of England? When Herman's Hermits wrote their classic hit about the King, It might have sounded something like this. Henry His Eighth I'm Henry, his eighth, I am. Henry, his eighth, I am, I am. I'm going out with the Wacko, next door, He's dated seven other kids, before. And every one was a little boy, Wouldn't date a Nancy or a Pam. I'm his eighth boy friend, I'm Henry, Henry, his eighth, I am. Second verse, just like the first! I'm Henry, his eighth, I am. Henry, his eighth, I am, I am. I'm going out with the Wacko, next door, He's dated seven other kids, before. And every one was a little boy, Wouldn't date a Nancy or a Pam. I'm his eighth boy friend, I'm Henry, Henry, his eighth, I am. Written by PTown33636 |