Watch Count Sockula descend from the thrown and wriggle in delight when I send you this poem. I'm out for treats bitch, tell your cat to keep six, save my paper so I stack flavor like 'I need this'. Each step I take brings me closer to the goodies. Peanutbutter oatmeal's a pirate's cookie - yum. Eat 'em up quick, haters eat a dick, sugar-free gum, need a green thumb plus swedish fish. Boo please, I'm begging for poutine hot chicken wings with the ranch, no blue cheese. Whose steeze melts a track oh so gooey? Socks and Jorun - now gimme your Jos Louis. Look, I'm not jokin' around, yellow, orange, and brown Reese's Pieces all over the ground. Mama always said junk'll rot out your teeth, but I don't care though, 'cause I'm out for treats.
Me and my peeps got hot eats in the grotto, fresh meat in the taco, extra cheese in the nacho. Crisp tee reading 'got beef?' as the motto lounged on the couch peeling tangerines from Morocco. Chocolate milk in bags? I'm slashin' up the spout. While your family is out, I'll read the pantry of your house. Been known to make a jam sammy for your spouse: she got candy in her mouth rocking panties and a blouse. Used to call her 'Icey' (fly as snow breezin') and always bought her treats 'cause she cried for no reason. Found out she was secretly high through four seasons and partied every night but would lie alone weekends, like girl, why you so complicated? Then I turned back to my Pizza Pop and ate it. She started trying to tell me something 'bout her needs. I threw my hoodie on and said I'm out for treats.