Twelve days, Mr Ho-Ho, and I am a star.
I'm phoning friends with payola and the word.
Greater than Egypt’s pyramid scheme, or “Bird“,
I'll cut the concert in bulletproof car.
You laugh I'm just the opening act,
but I get things revved for an aging KISS.
I’ll upstage those fogeys, on macaque make-up piss.
I'll tear the house down and that's a fact.
They won't dare pull me offstage so quick
when I swear and spit and rage and flash
at seas of strawberry-vined young punk gash.
Up asses with gusto I'll lodge guitar picks.
Breakdance with beer, boys! Party time tonight.
Record company suits'll be kissing my ass
when tunes sound like synthesizers passing gas.
After a quick million, I'll quit and get tight.
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