In this motel you’re doomed—
End of the line.
Presided over by a loon
Who is spyin’
On women, spyin’.

You know, mom can’t stand it;
She’s runnin’ him down
For this gawking gambit--
There ain’t no dad figure around.

In this motel you’re doomed.
It’s knifing time
Knife tine.

You’ll meet doom,
In that room
’cause the loon
In will zoom
While you show’r
And then will pare—
He got up as she—
With a baleful glow’r. . .
S/he’s shearing!

Now the motel is doomed:
S/he’s doing time.