mr cottonmouth

sad and lonely inside, like a hollowed tooth with cyanide groaning and bemoaning about the market, the trade, the money in his bank, thats who mr cottonmouth is a very rich man with a house in his south who whines and pouts, while others put his fires out his tongue is long and split, with two little twins that drip be careful, if you work for him don't trip, don't make him flip he'll rip the stage, and try to mend the page with the same greed that would make your mouth go dry and like an animal, crass or a poor child cornered in class if you ask, why he basks so in the glow of his so called foes he'll say its me or them, i deserve better than their pen, while he bawls and points, at the street but if confronted with any form of the truth, it's almost comically as if theres a little cute cat, holding his silvered tongue, straight to the roof he'll start to mold, his mouth like a snakeskin wallet that can't fold filled with unpaid bills but his voice won't go shrill, or squeak, he's adamant you see that it was "them or me", refusing to believe that he has soured all the nuts, giving them an awful bitter smell