Four Lads Stacked In A Trench Coat

I Am The Eggman

I never would've survived
         Beatlemania.
Too many teenage girls
screaming made-up words
from their made-up mouths
into my fed-up ears
would've been my war,
         my WWII,
and my Eiffel Tower would've been
too small to host them all.
And they would cry, calling me
         the rotten Eggman,
the crabalocker fishwives,
as I yolked them
like the porno priestesses
they aspired to be.
For I am
         the rotten Eggman,
and my long-grown face
weary of my own made-up words
would know goo goo g'joob
         is one corporate t-shirt
too far
for that bridge of my life.