Nobody Fucks With Baby

Featured artwork by L.H. Grey

Nobody Fucks With Baby and its companion piece, Johnny Got Angry, were written in March 2018 and have remained unpublished until now. Both were written from a female perspective, to challenge the perception of gender role. Both are unapologetic, though with a far greater goal than to shock and appall the reader.

Listen to Suggested Audio

Billie Eilish “All The Good Girls Go To Hell”

The revolution will not be televised
Never mind, I’ll stream that shit in half the time
Seeking out the seeders, all I see is heavy bleeders
Nothing like a blood feast just to pass the time
As far as mental cases go, this one is open-shut
I’m slut for guts and like to finger windpipes as they jut
Call me whore for gore and I’ll adore you all the more
Spread that butt, I’ll fuck it with a drill bit ’til it’s raw

You can be my puppet and I’ll be your Sandie Shaw
You can be my subject and I’ll major in your fears
Lubricate my strap-on with your alligator tears
Give you less each time you scream for more
Soon have this place looking like a slaughterhouse floor
I’m gone, way gone and gone some bloody more

Used to be a butcher and my cuts were ever tender
Not an ounce of gristle on the lean
Gender reassignment was a favorite of mine
Many kings I transformed into queens
Tickled pink and pickled dicks in vinegar
Got quite the selection and in honor of erection it’s affectionately only getting bigger

Not that I am choosy, either sex is game to me
Show me ripened pussy and I’ll stab it til it bleeds
Maybe plant some seeds and grow myself a pussy tree
Wait for it to bear fruit then grab all that I can eat
Lick my lips and let the juices dribble down my chin suggestively
Love a bit of drizzle on my lean

I’m gone, way gone and gone some more recurring
Conclusion is foregone and cause of death not undetermined
Smiling for the camera while every screw is turning
Murderously lightening the burden
Killing in the name of spilling guts for fancy frills
Starting with the rumor mill, that’s where I get my grain
Carve out tongues of unsung folly, conjure up a daisy chain
Put up my umbrella and then dance about the acid rain

I’m the nightmare in your damaged brain
The cold sweat on your skin as you awaken screaming once again
Keep telling yourself that it is only a dream
Meanwhile, I shall get to work on rupturing your spleen
Use your spinal column just to floss the meat between my teeth
Grab that achy breaky heart and strangulate its beat
Deep throat flawless victory predictably from jaws of your defeat
Smell your season, bring about the bleed

Get down on your knees and suck my cock you little bitch
Jonny’s getting angry and he ain’t in any mood to reminisce
Do not think me Jezebel as I stand tall to piss
Gone, way gone and set adrift on homicidal bliss
Bend over and I’ll show you the lipstick
Flip your pale ass over so your lips can read my licorice dipstick
Should you blink then I’ll ensure you do not miss the grand finale
As I saddle up your bone rack, easy ride you like a Harley

Number one son of anarchy me
Vanity free and precisely the devil I claim to be
Bring me an angel to slay and I’ll pay a set fee as they all look the fucking same to me
Lambs to be slaughtered and hacked, whacked and chopped at the altar
I master in this craft of mine
This surgeon’s hand it falters not
Can call your death in half the time
In fact, I really oughta
Gone, way gone and yet standing right here with your pitiful life in the palm of my hand
Good luck resisting the fatalistic charm
And I’ll see you on my ward rounds for your bed bath
Now go do the fucking math

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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