It's A Hard (date approximate)

What have you done, my bubble-eyed son? 

What have you done, my mutant young one?

 

I've starred in a picture made by John Waters

I've been the receiver of fifty face farters

I've walked and I've crawled down Pacific Coast Highway

I've prostituted my penis to purchase some homegrown

I've spent many nights hunched over a toilet

 

And it's a hard -- and it's a hard -- and it's a hard

And it's a hard -- and it's a hard penis

Packed by Paul

 

Where have you been, my bubble eyed son?

And where have you been, my brain dead young one?

 

I've been down Paul's pants in search of some underwear

I've been up to Frisco & worked as a hooker

I've been ten thousand miles down the old Hershey Highway

I've stalked tiny rodents down the sewers of Stanton

Fried 'em up in a tin can on an ancient Bic lighter

 

Chorus

 

What have you seen --

What have you seen, my puke faced young one?

 

I've seen grime and black fungus in crevices forgotten

I've seen pus mixed w/toejam inside of a blister

I've seen group sex with dogs and become a member

I've seen turds in the toilet w/corn in the middle 

 

 

 

----

 

**Note from the present day: 

 

I'm not proud of this shit. I'm just being thorough is all. This was more of the puerile and non-enlightened crap that was going on in my unevolved brain during this period. 

 

A group of local kids I associated with, in high school and later years, would relentlessly ridicule this one family, who admittedly had a few untidy characteristics, mostly stemming from generational alcohol abuse. Their lives were fucked up from the get-go, and they developed some self-destructive coping skills, most of which ran them afoul of the law. 

 

But we certainly didn't make things any better for them by composing these shameful ditties. So, posthumously: Paul, Timmy, Dorsey, Betty, Stevie, Neil -- all the Fallon clan, even Pepper the Dog -- I'm sorry.**