piątek, 15 stycznia 2010


" I'm not the prisoner of my skin
It's flexible and paper thin
I'm breaking out to let you
Where I get pierced with a little pin

Little pricks I could hardly feel --

tiny little needles made of steel
I make a statement, hear my cry --
something I'll have
past the day that I die
I was inspired by the illustrated man --
I got my first
butterfly on my can
I'm running out of room I can't find a place --
I'll have to put the
Last Supper on my face

Tattoo, tattoo me now tattoo ow

I can't be buried in
a Jewish cemetery --
unless before I die I become very hairy
I can't get a job that
means anything --
But I can always get a nipple ring
A pattern of scars filled with ink
like vacation postcards don't you think?
Running from my ankle all the way to my
breast --
is a map of my vacation in the wild wild west

Tattoo, tattoo me now
tattoo ow

My body is a canvas -- a picture I control
A gallery of images -- I
worship every hole
The back's an empty album -- begging for some art
Dragons, lizards,
ancient gods -- only question -- where to start"

The Bobs "Tattoo me now"