Analysis of Cheetos

A tarnished heart, yearing for something real.
Why must the women know how I feel?

Covered in cheeto dust, I lay on the ground
for the police who tell me I am dressed like a clown.

Covered in in shame, I take off my clown nose
Everyone can see, even Reverend Blaowfoze.

Everyone glears into my soul, as my cheeto dust body is brushed off with care.
And all the hungry children just stand and stare.
Pulling their hair, while standing on chairs.

The police handcuff me, they know too much
about my love affair with Paul, and my cheeto dust.

I am a clown. hear me roar.
roarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr