The Eighth Page

Farts Presents… The Poetry Parlor

Stop Bashin’ On Fashion Is it odd to wear a hat, with eyes and furry ears Is it wrong to have a hairdo, that everybody fears It doesn’t make me weird, if I wear a pair of jeans That are more ripped than the Hulk, and made from collard greens I don’t dress to impress, that isn’t how I roll I wear what makes me happy, what lubricates my soul Clothes aren’t just a thing; they express the way I feel Silk when I am happy, and when sad some baby seal I’m sick of all you haters, who talk behind my back You could at least dress better, for talking so much smack You wear your stupid T-shirts, with pants that sag too low And to all who don’t agree: you can suck my stylish… toe A Documentary From History Class You know it will soon begin When the lights mysteriously dim There is barely any work It’s practically a sin Lots of blood and gore So I know it’s on a war I just don’t have the desire To learn anything more Man I want to sleep I’ve started counting sheep They don’t have Morgan Freeman So this movie must be cheap If you haven’t done your work Or are a mega dork Then you want to watch this film Of this I am sure My Love for the Arts (To be read with a british accent) What is it about the arts, that I love so very dear That makes me want to cry, all over William Shakespeare Theater, music, dance, I love them all the same Except interpretive dance: that one’s really lame There’s nothing I love more, than dancing in the rain And singing notes so high, that they slowly fry my brain Or acting in a play, as a little talking frog Who gets kissed by a princess, then mutilated by rabid dogs (Weird ending, I know. My sixth grade drama teacher had an imagination) The arts are all I have, no time for social deeds My career is most important: it’s the only thing I need I’m gonna stay this way, until the very end Unless I learn a trade, or find a lady friend