Oooh you're a naughty mess

i am a terrible son and lover/ just phoned mater and extracted cash under false pretences/ and whilst i secured the cash to redress a balance (i've scored more than i should of late) i will score again/ the bags at the moment are just too good: huge and the gear excellent/ a fucking rare combination/ i mean the gear really is excellent/ strong, smooth and leaves plenty of recycle in the mouthpiece/ and the quantity: pee heych wopht/ a large pale rock of quality gear for a tenner is to be sniffed or smoked or jacked at/ so here i sit awaiting the deposit and simmering nicely from my recent smoke/ moving house tomorrow/ the situation exceeds tragic/ however i am not going to let it darken my outlook/ i've resolved firmly to never let depression rule me again/ never again shall i allow my mind to speculate darkly on things to come/ after all, nothing ever happens/ for all the hours, nay days i've spent squirming in the very depths of despair, my mind wildly speculating, extrapolating, postulating horrific, morbid, turgid thoughts, conclusions that are never met in reality/ what a fucking waste, no?/ thus i am billy no worries/ i worry not because worrying is a thoroughly pointless exercise/ even the argument that it is necessary to spur one to action is fallacious/ it may well spur one on to some degree but there are other, less ruinous ways to achieve the same end/ out