Roomin’ with a guy who is a goon,
breathin’ in his butt smoke in this room.
We’re stuck here in this dormicile [sic] together;
Soaking out in the rain would be much better.
Anyplace else I’d like to be instead of
Fumin’ here within the smoky gloom,
Thinkin’ that this smoke will lead to doom.

I wish this room would have a vacancy
And that the only resident was me.
I’d be happier living on the street, not
roomin’ with a guy who’s like a flue,
smokin’ a pack a day—sometimes two…
Smoke-blow, smoke-blow.

I might become a dropout…run away
And say to my parents, “Fuck the B.A!”
Instead, maybe my roomie I will slay.
Then, no more next to me, he, with smoke vexing me.

Roommates not too often are a boon;
Creepy sometimes—harbingers of doom.
Woe, woe, woe, woe.

Fumin',
I’m glum...no gun.