Go Ask Malice When She’s Two Feet Tall

My lovely old lady was Malice,
She was queen of all slime and all smut,
We lived in our roomy old palace,
Though not half so big as her butt.

And she was as lovely as roses
Clipped from the queen’s garden there,
She stuck them between her fat toeses,
And combed cooties out of her.

One day in the garden while dancing,
Under an gnarly old oak,
I got drunk and tried hard in lancing
Her butt with a bicycle spoke.

I missed, but my ham-handed lefty,
She clocked me so well in the nose,
Her punch was effective and hefty,
And she stuck up my butt a red rose.

Now my Malice was magic and stranger
Than spiders who sing to the moon,
She could turn herself into a ranger,
A lion, a harp or baboon.

I found her one day in the garden,
Hard by the mailman quite dead,
My poor heart it began then to harden,
When I saw that she’d cut off his head.

She was only two feet and alluring,
And her butt was as big as a pie,
Her magic was strong and enduring,
As she poked me right there in the eye!