How come the alligator in me

How come the alligator in me
Never becomes the aviator
I need him to be

Why THE FUCK does the elevator
I ride all day and night
Never act as a clean detonator

I get lost with no indicator
Of why they scream and call me
a dirty fabricator

I clock in the hours in the simulator
I ain’t no women hater
Not even a manipulator

I end up at the magnetic equator
Wherever I go
In my pocket a private investigator

I’ve sent him to act as a spectator
While you tear me a new one
Without any lubricator

Your hands are dripping perculator
Fluids all over my nasty past
Thrashing wildly in my refrigerator

My attempt to act a moderator
Gets your giggles started
Christ knows I’m no gladiator

My lifesaving inhalator
Is thrown out the window
Leaving me a naked masturbator

In our grand amphitheater
you just can’t help yourself
your toes a kind of linear operator