A drinking-song to cocaine, nectar of the gods and seltzer of the mind. Lawrence only looked up in horror. I smell a hybrid Jew, swarthy, buckled up for the housework. Genitalia, laddie, that's the protagonist of the little drama. There's door money owing to the dominion here.
Credentials mean nothing in the grandstand coke show.
Mum's the word. And put an ankh now on your black leather jacket. The ant eaters in the Antarctic are chiming the bells to make chop-suey out of your balls. Yeah, cocaine is gonna transform you into my slave, and during the breathing spaces of our love affair I'll put you nude and chained into the cage where you'll stink and eat raw meat. Don't look so pop-eyed, Lawrence.