/lit/ - Literature

Louis F. in the house reppin' Courbevoie
Only doctor in France that can't afford a car
My prose is erratic and bitter and vicious
But I bet you know it from all the ellipsis...

Insomnia again, this will be an all-nighter
When pop's stepped to me I hit him with a typewriter
My country turned on me, they want me for treason
And I can assure you, it's for no good reason

Why would I tell the Germans bout' the Maginot Line?
If they're standing on the border they can see it just fine
I eat less and less and I swear I think better
But it's winter, I'm freezing, I don't have a sweater

I like American girls and their naive optimism
I thought of them often those long months in prison
Yeah, eighteen months in the Vestre Faengsel
And I'm not gonna try to rhyme Vestre Faengsel

I critique and expose the human condition
And do please forgive me, I think somethings missin'
A bit anti-Semite, it's exaggerated
But discuss the Jews, you're eternally hated