what's in yer pocket?

when yer down in the dumps
from authoritative administered lumps
leaving swellings and contusions and bumps
and the weight and sting of the lash
deepens the ever widening gash
too many hairpin curves
speeds too fast
and yer about to crash
and somewhere in the frenzy you can't find yer stash

pull out yer personal pink penguin

when priorities usurp us
with collisions of purpose
and a cliff looks real appealing
cuz walls are never revealing
whats under the floor or above the ceiling
leaving you left with a dull sinking feeling

pull out yer personal pink penguin

if it seems years are to squander
lost like summer wages
and writings are on the wall
and the path is strewn with tattered pages
it seems reasonable to ponder
to head out yonder
and start something fonder
just don't forget to launder

yer personal pink penguin

(because you never know where it's been)