How It Is - pg. 38

quick the head in the sack where saving your reverence I have all the suffering of all the ages I don't give a curse for it and howls of laughter in every cell the tins rattle like castanets and under me convulsed the mud goes guggle-guggle I fart and piss in the same breath

blessed day last of the journey all goes without a hitch the joke dies too old the convulsions die I comeback to the open air to serious things had I only the little finger to raise to be wafted straight to Abraham's bosom I'd tell him to stick it up