I met her in Peoria

250 lbs. of flabby harlot woman flesh

Is wobbling around the hotel room, farting

Mucus is dripping from her pig-hole nostrils into her mouth

Nah, streaming

Steaming, streaming great green rivulet

Her tounge makes sure no leftover chunks go astray, miss their mark

Mom I mean buisness

Put your finger on the button

Yeah, will do

Just let me finish this page

I said (hog call)

Sticky, sticky, sticky, sticky, sticky

Tounge's feeling dry, swollen up like a pocket full of lint inclusive

Know what I mean

Know what I mean

Know what I mean

Failing that, the falling fat

Crack another six pack and get on with the job at hand

Many hands make light work

But makes palms broth

Fists flying and slipping into hole after hole after hole after heat

Hey, she buys cayenneby the quart

Filled up to the elbow bone, fried up to the joint

Filed at the shin, skin hanging off in sheets and shards

You do this shit for a living

Those grimey, greasy pores exuding their slimy mixture of filth and puss

In little white whorled pustules

Every time she smiles that yellow, shit-eating grin

That shit-eating grin

Christ, she was beautiful