Don’t touch that it’s flamin

She said “I’m tighter than church pants in July,”

I said, “Well hallelujah,” and gave it a try.

But next day my rifle was shootin’ blanks,

Now it’s swollen, red, and shaped like a fishin’ crank.

(spoken)

I ain’t sayin’ she was loose,

But I fell in and echoed like I was yellin' in the Grand Canyon.

It’s flamin’, it’s screamin’, it’s startin’ to peel,

I thought it was love—turns out it was real!

Real nasty, real raw, real damn gross,

Now my junk got a rash with its own zip code.

(spoken)

I looked down and said, “Why you lookin’ like lasagna, bro?! You wasn’t built like this last week!”

She said “you ever do it in a porta-potty?”

I said “Hell yeah,” now my balls got polka-dotty.

I’m scratchin’ in math class, cryin’ in gym—

Why my junk lookin’ like a busted shrimp?

(spoken)

This is what happens when you raw dog someone who vapes through their belly button.

Look here, America—

Any time the p*ssy smell like hot nickels and regret, you need to RUN.

I went down there like a gentleman, came up lookin’ like I ate radioactive cornflakes.

My lip been twitchin’ ever since.

She said “it’s just friction,”

Nah baby—friction don’t come with green discharge and Latin subtitles.

Kevin: Man I hit it raw, now I got the Lord on speed dial.

Katt: My dick got PTSD. It flinches when I unzip.

Kevin: I got a restraining order on my own meat.

Katt: I peed the other day and the toilet caught on fire!

Don’t touch that—it’s flamin’!

Like deep-fried regret, no explainin’!

If you’re pokin’ in the dark with no latex shield,

Don’t be surprised when your eggplant’s grilled.

It’s flamin’…

Like Ghost Pepper lube and bad decisions,

She said she was “clean,”

But now my balls need religion.

Clayton: That wasn’t love, son. That was hepatitis deluxe.

Cartman: My balls look like a pepperoni Hot Pocket.

Katt: I ain't got crabs—I got a Red Lobster buffet.

Kevin: I'm startin’ a GoFundMe… for my dick’s funeral.