He’s an aging adolescent who’s accepted life’s defeat.
Since he cannot beat the odds he is content to beat the meat.
He sits at home and yanks his bone and tells himself he’s
neat.
A wanker wanking on.
Gloriosky what a
wanker.
Gloriosky what a
wanker.
Gloriosky what a
wanker.
A wanker wanking on.
Ziggurats of crusty porno rise in stacks beside his bed.
Each night he reads and creams and dreams of Heather
Locklear giving head.
Oh there’s shit to do and bills to pay; the cat it must be
fed.
You wanker wanking on.
Gloriosky what a
wanker.
Gloriosky what a
wanker.
Gloriosky what a
wanker.
A wanker wanking on.
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