Dear Seattle, You'Ve Sold Your Balls To the Devil
Dear Seattle,
You've sold your balls to the devil.
Now your streets are overgrown
with poison pansies, weeds, and thorns.
At night there's rape-intimidation and extortion.
Just beyond their fragile little mind border.
A dollop of tear gas and a couple of weed whackers.
And they'll scurry back down their rabid holes.
Dear Seattle,
You've sold your balls to the devil.
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