(Sung to the tune of Mr. Grinch)
It’s a mean one, this bad itch,
It burns when I have to go,
My crotch feels like its been rubbed with peppers,
The extra hot ones from Mexico, this bad itch.
<spoken> Not to mention the gooey intermittent flow.
It’s a foul one, this bad itch,
I can see crabs amongst the hairs,
They’re having a fucking orgy,
They’re breeding without a care, this bad itch.
<spoken> I went to see the doctor but all he could do was stare.
It’s a rotter, this bad itch,
I’m covered in open sores,
A thousand wells of pestilence,
Uncontrollably dripping on the floor, this bad itch.
<spoken> It’s so nasty that some of the crabs have relocated to my head because they can’t take it anymore.
It’s nauseating, this bad itch,
It smells worse than a chili fart,
It stinks like a skunk’s old dildo,
And resembles Picasso’s abstract art, this bad itch.
<spoken> The stuff that comes out can best be described as three year old cottage cheese mixed with assorted flavors of long forgotten yogurt.
It’s a monster, this bad itch,
A beast using my pants as its lair,
I really should have used protection,
Instead of fucking without a care, this bad itch.
<spoken> The lesson I’ve learned is never use a glory hole on a dare.