By George Watsky
So someone
said to me the other day I’ve got a lisp.
A stranger you know they said I’ve got a subtle lisp and I should know I sound a little stupid doing spoken words when all my words have "S" in them are spoken so absurd.
And I’m not upset, okay it just sucks.
You think you’re speaking normally for two decades and then shucks;
find out your stuff sounds like a stanza of Severus Snapes toughest parseltounge is pronounced by daffy duck.
So I will say this.
My subtle lisp is not sinful. I’m not sorry Saturday, I’m not sorry Sunday; I’m spiritual and when I speak I celebrate the Sabbath seven days a week.
I've got special S sauce all smothered on my skull walls like a tossed salad so silk screen the Sistine ceiling on my soft pallet.
I sing along with super seensters reciting Sufjan Stevens songs in skinny jeans.
Dance salsa with soccer moms sneaking out in skimpy see-through sarongs.
I will answer your questions in stout with my sexy subtly lisping sparkling incisor small.
What’s my surname? Watsky.
What’s my size? Stocky.
My city? San Francisco it’s so sweet now slow.
See, I’ve heard some steamy stories of oral sex but I’m not stretching to say one time, I made a lady climax by speaking an S-y section of a Shakespeare sonnet in her split legs general direction.
I scribble all S Essays I shred them and sprinkle the whole S ashes. My speech doesn’t give a spotted sea snail if it passes. I slipped pass straight F’s to straight S’s in my classes because my speech stay second semester senior status.
Seriously so so so so soon, so sick sixth grade kids call me sofa king I’m on tongue steroids, slammin with the Sammie Sosa swing, so tight I sleep upright in a small cell in Sing Sing and sail the seven seas on Steve Irwin’s sting ray while your speed boats sinking.
It’s still too soon.
Anyway screw an S.S.O.S I’m straight S.S.S for save someone’s standards. Studied at Emerson the school of savage speech.
Sup Stanford?
I spit sexier than Summer Sanders, Sarah Silverman, Susan Sarandon, Sissy Spacek, Sally Struthers, and Selena, spooning, in a 6-way same sex all S celebrity civil union.
So, you can slander the gay lisp and I will slip you a solid list of friends, or 60% of Emerson; who, lisp or no lisp, will stop, spit, stay pissed, and start all over on the racists.
You can save the South Korean stereotypes, the Sambo shtick, the sexist shit is sickening.
And if you suppose your speech is normal, its cause your impediment is listening.
Speak for those of us with something special. Something that sets us aside from my accent havers, my stammerers, my Southerners, my st-st-stutterers, yes I will spit it sick and stick to never skipping S.
Cause I was, sucking on a soup spoon and I suckled it to sterling silver simple supple super soaker staying watching sister sister scenage syllables coming esophagus move over there’s this place in second place isolate oxygen there’s no stopping this I start this step of speaking you should see that I will not desist
I’m sorry cuz see, If you don’t like a subtle lisp, but you can simply suck on thissssssss
A stranger you know they said I’ve got a subtle lisp and I should know I sound a little stupid doing spoken words when all my words have "S" in them are spoken so absurd.
And I’m not upset, okay it just sucks.
You think you’re speaking normally for two decades and then shucks;
find out your stuff sounds like a stanza of Severus Snapes toughest parseltounge is pronounced by daffy duck.
So I will say this.
My subtle lisp is not sinful. I’m not sorry Saturday, I’m not sorry Sunday; I’m spiritual and when I speak I celebrate the Sabbath seven days a week.
I've got special S sauce all smothered on my skull walls like a tossed salad so silk screen the Sistine ceiling on my soft pallet.
I sing along with super seensters reciting Sufjan Stevens songs in skinny jeans.
Dance salsa with soccer moms sneaking out in skimpy see-through sarongs.
I will answer your questions in stout with my sexy subtly lisping sparkling incisor small.
What’s my surname? Watsky.
What’s my size? Stocky.
My city? San Francisco it’s so sweet now slow.
See, I’ve heard some steamy stories of oral sex but I’m not stretching to say one time, I made a lady climax by speaking an S-y section of a Shakespeare sonnet in her split legs general direction.
I scribble all S Essays I shred them and sprinkle the whole S ashes. My speech doesn’t give a spotted sea snail if it passes. I slipped pass straight F’s to straight S’s in my classes because my speech stay second semester senior status.
Seriously so so so so soon, so sick sixth grade kids call me sofa king I’m on tongue steroids, slammin with the Sammie Sosa swing, so tight I sleep upright in a small cell in Sing Sing and sail the seven seas on Steve Irwin’s sting ray while your speed boats sinking.
It’s still too soon.
Anyway screw an S.S.O.S I’m straight S.S.S for save someone’s standards. Studied at Emerson the school of savage speech.
Sup Stanford?
I spit sexier than Summer Sanders, Sarah Silverman, Susan Sarandon, Sissy Spacek, Sally Struthers, and Selena, spooning, in a 6-way same sex all S celebrity civil union.
So, you can slander the gay lisp and I will slip you a solid list of friends, or 60% of Emerson; who, lisp or no lisp, will stop, spit, stay pissed, and start all over on the racists.
You can save the South Korean stereotypes, the Sambo shtick, the sexist shit is sickening.
And if you suppose your speech is normal, its cause your impediment is listening.
Speak for those of us with something special. Something that sets us aside from my accent havers, my stammerers, my Southerners, my st-st-stutterers, yes I will spit it sick and stick to never skipping S.
Cause I was, sucking on a soup spoon and I suckled it to sterling silver simple supple super soaker staying watching sister sister scenage syllables coming esophagus move over there’s this place in second place isolate oxygen there’s no stopping this I start this step of speaking you should see that I will not desist
I’m sorry cuz see, If you don’t like a subtle lisp, but you can simply suck on thissssssss
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