Mr. George is cold, man

I was sittin’ on the corner of “childhood comfort” and “Adulthood Avenue” when a venue to jubilance jackers slapped the ass-faulty dice-capade with a nice grenade parade. What’s that? A war on false battlegrounds where the sky is the shade and the trees you smoke for clouds to wash your blues away with the mountain sun. I’m so done with funds. I’m soda on fun-whipped lungs. You smell of “NEWSENSE”; NO MATTER THE MIND TO MY NOSE!!!! I knows what eye sees and that ain’t no ladybug next to me. I means a matter of mass instrumentation…….