Wednesday, March 24, 2010


Wormwood sits in his special place
Picking scabs from off his face
Chewing them silently he smiles
Rotten teeth that go on for miles
Wormwood thinks that you are cool
Would like to meet you after school
I hope you don't mind his ringworm head
Or the fact that he smells like something dead
Wormwood is cool, his style is hip
Wormwood will gladly take your shit
He'll smile as you rant and yell
And laugh as tell him to go to hell
Break his bones
Slam his face in a door
Wormwoods seen it all before
He claims that pain just ain't no thang
You just gotta roll with what life can brang
Wormwoods hip
Wormwoods cool
Wormwood knows he ain't no fool
Wormwood says you're his best friend
Together till the very end
Wormwood would like to cook you some food
Don't say no, it would be rude
Off in the kitchen he makes for you
A very special kind of stew
Is that a finger floating there?
Wormwood doesn't seem to care
Was that a groan coming from the next room?
You say you have to be leaving soon
Wormwood says your plate's not clean
You're the rudest person he's ever seen
He says that you are very bad
For making poor old Wormwood mad
You better make the door pretty quick
Wormwood is tired of all your shit


Anonymous said...

Impressive song, Kurdt. I really like it. It's sad, but I've been in Wormwood's shoes. Not the scabs or the stew, but I've had little moments like that.

Anonymous said...

That's pretty much why I wrote "Plastic".