Tudor Rickards’ The Age of Grunge by GM Jon

The age of Grunge is on its way  But I don’t care if it goes or stays It don’t bother me if you think that Grunge  Is like getting a slap from a cold wet sponge Brain dead bozos like pigs in a blanket I spit in their drink at a fancy banquet  Have yourself a well-good laugh Make them eat a barbecued giraffe The age of Grunge is on its way  But I don’t care if it goes or stays Even without trying, I give a nudge To irritate anyone who won’t budge. Office slaves and bosses with bowlers And decrepit rock and rollers Pinch me, punch me, knock me or gouge me If you think it might arouse me Nobody loves me I don’t care I’m wrapped in an overcoat of despair Country and Western turns me off  Like a Rabbi saying mazel tov  Likewise a guru offering a blessing Or a priest I need for my confessing The age of Grunge is on its way  But I don’t care if it goes or stays Never afraid to burp or belch  Going where no one dares to squelch  You wanna know what makes my day? Saying what no one else likes to say  Mirror, mirror on the wall Who is the grungiest of them all? My pain is just as cool as yours is My music just as cool as blues is All that’s putrid, rancid rank Cheers me up from my memory bank. Pimples and pustules oozing pus  Are the dreams of dudes like us What justification can there be For the beliefs of bros like me? As we prepare for a final battle Defending the outskirts of Seattle The age of Grunge is on its way