Iamb the scissors you bastard :@

[billy]

The lungs inflate, the snot's sucked from your nose
a bloodied would be poet for the road
You blindly scream and think "Well I'll be blowed
some silly bastards messing with my toes"
It's then you start to write the master prose
but not before you shift a canny load;
the images you thought of all erode
umbilical is cut, a snip, you froze

you wasn't paralytic all that long;
and soon the critics gave their first insight
"The cock is small the head is fat, what's wrong?
"He's limp just like his dad the little mite."
"Yeah; full of shit, not even worth a song"
and so pared down and pruned you start the night.