whats the fukkin difference?

Pinch of salt please. But read and weep. Canteen is gone, pinch of salt pinch of salt. Grass is tough and something you smoke. Pear juice runs down my arm and bugs swarm. Shelling out cash at yesterday's expense, drink my sorrows but cant quite make it. Money is tight, and the more the tighter, the tramp got greedy, said times were hard. Night goes fast when old and tired.night is dead on its arse. More words would flow had I not choked on awkward air, so sit back and openly stare. I stare back. So drink the journey on its head, escape some more blues. 2 bottles down. Chronic. Competition/Conversation....dead on its arse, dead dead.