SQUID’S GOT A BACKBONE

 
 
 
Squid's got a backbone
SQUID’S GOT A BACKBONE

John wants to read a poem. Lilou says yes. John reads a poem

John: I wrote a poem to this photograph you took back in Motala Motor Museum. Do you want to hear it?

Lilou: I’d love to hear it. I love your poems. I used to think poems were pretentious crap, but since I started reading yours I have changed my mind.

John: You are the best wife in the world, you know that? Wife, groupie, muse and nymph. All in one. Ok, are you ready for “Squid’s got a backbone?”

Lilou: Your groupie is ready. Bring it on.

John (reading with a pretentious voice):

This is Squid.

Chrome colored skin and one big eye.

Don’t call him Octopus.

Squid don’t wanna be mixed up with them well-off molluscs with inner-reef bank jobs.

They got all the fancy colors, changing every day to please executives who got a cave in Botafago Bay.

This is Squid.

Don’t call him Octopus.

 

John wants to read a poem. Lilou says yes. John reads a poem

John: I wrote a poem to this photograph you took back in Motala Motor Museum. Do you want to hear it?

Lilou: I’d love to hear it. I love your poems. I used to think poems were pretentious crap, but since I started reading yours I have changed my mind.

John: You are the best wife in the world, you know that? Wife, groupie, muse and nymph. All in one. Ok, are you ready for “Squid’s got a backbone?”

Lilou: Your groupie is ready. Bring it on.

John (reading with a pretentious voice):

This is Squid.

Chrome colored skin and one big eye.

Don’t call him Octopus.

Squid don’t wanna be mixed up with them well-off molluscs with inner-reef bank jobs.

They got all the fancy colors, changing every day to please executives who got a cave in Botafago Bay.

This is Squid.

Don’t call him Octopus.