But slapping his genitals all over a canvas is not Pricasso’s only talent, he enjoys writing poetry about the thing that is closest to his art:
I’ll always remember the words my mother said
the day I was born- as she lay in her bed
as they handed me too her- here is your son
those words they still haunt me
He’s bloody well hung.
At school I exposed it to all of the kids
the big ones all loved it- and I loved what they did
my schoolwork shrank- and I got lots of spankings
but it rapidly grew- from constantly wanking.
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