Stroke me pompadour, pompaduooor, pompaduooor,
pompaduooor. Stroke me pompadour, father. Stroke it nicely while I tell you about the problems I am
having with my car an my girlfriend. Ooo-wo-woo, the white man's burden!
Her and her
girlfriend used to go out and booze it up and tear up the upholstery; rip the seats completely out,
and so I got a fifty-six Olds. About the time I got it running decently, she got in it and wrecked
the trans . . . tore it completely up, so I had to get another Oldsmobile (either that or go to
Tijuana or go to BROWN MOSES way down in Egypt-Land). It's so hard on a child when his car is fucked
up. Buy me a Volvo, faaather.
Harry-As-A-Boy:
Isn't it terrific, artificial
RHONDA!
Crab-Grass Baby:
One-Adam-Twelve . . . see the enormous white pompadour!
Ha-Ha-ha-ho! That's a good one! Hoo-hoo-hoo.
Harry-As-A-Boy:
He's so young, and
yet, SO WISE!
Crab-Grass Baby:
I pooped my pants, pooped my pants, pooped my
pants! I went doody, faaather, sob-sob-sob-sob-sob.
Harry-As-A-Boy:
His vocabulary
is astonishing!
Crab-Grass Baby:
So what if you suck a little cock every once in a
while?
Harry-As-A-Boy:
Ohhh . . . I'm so lucky to have a son like this . .
.
Crab-Grass Baby:
Barf me out . . . gag me with a
Volvo!
Harry-As-A-Boy:
I can't wait to show him to all the fellas down at the
MINE-SHAFT!
Crab-Grass Baby:
Take me to the movies. Buy me a balloon. Stroke me
pompadour!
Harry-As-A-Boy:
Look! Look! Look at the pecker on him, wouldja!
Goodjy-goodjy-goodjy-goo! Hoo hoo hoo!
