David Bowie doesn't like me
Because
His soap is woven by
Pedigree silk worms
And has four different types of magical firming agents
And real flakes of silver and gold
And I say,
"It's just soap, David"
David Bowie doesn't like me
Because
When he farts
They all say,
"Oooo, ahhh, magnificent, do it again"
And I say,
"Go to the bathroom if you want to do that, David"
David Bowie doesn't like me
Because
He lives up high above the ground
And everything is kept looking
Shiny and new by loyal imported maids
And when he looks out of his window
He feels like he is flying through the sky
And I say,
"You are solidly secured to the dirt below, David"
David Bowie doesn't like me
Because
He casts gossamer notes
Written in baby monkey tears
Out of his window
And the people below
Eagerly catch them
And the notes say,
'Buy my wife's face cream, it is the best'
And I say,
"No thanks. It's over-priced, and I have a recipe to make something better"
David Bowie doesn't like me
Because
He says,
"What you like is in the limo
What you get is no tomorrow
What you need you have to borrow"
And I say,
"I don't want to
Like
Get
Need
Or borrow
I just want to be
Free."
(Note: I do not know nor have I ever met David Bowie, but he seemed a perfect subject for this exercise, his name was rhythmically suitable and he'll never read it.)
