I'm writting this poem book just for you,
'Cause I don't have nothin' better to do.
I could mow the grass or I could clean the kitchen,
If I did that then Mom might quit her bitchin'.
My bed still ain't made, this place is a mess,
But I'm just too lazy to clean I confess.
It's now been three weeks since the bathrooms were cleaned,
The scum in the toilet is turning dark green.
It might be a little offsensive to some,
But my life would not be the same without scum.
Mom is always pissin' and moanin',
But the sum in my bedroom just keeps right on growin'.
Under my bed there is food, clothes, and books,
But I really don't give a shit how the place looks.
My make-up is scattered all over the place,
My mirror is so dirty I can't see my face.
I wish that I knew where the windows could be,
They're so fuckin' dusty I can't even see.
The closets are totally filled to the brim,
There's not even room for my clothes to go in.
All of the clothes from last month that I wore,
Are laying in piles all over the floor.
What color's my carpet? Please do not ask.
'Cause finding that out is a three hour task.
The radio plays music that just makes me cough,
If I could find it I'd shut it right off.
When I'm here after work I feel so alone,
But when someone calls I just can't find the phone.
When company's over, poor Mom is disgraced,
Because of the mess in this God-awful place.
The mess around here would make your head spin,
I'd clean it all up if I knew where to begin.
There's more everyday for me to clean-up,
but as you can tell I have just given up.