All these many things

I’d rather cover myself in gasoline
And dance naked with a flame
I’d rather eat a pineapple whole
Sick it up and eat it just the same
Id rather squeeze a lemon in my eyes
And gargle with acid rain
I’d rather stand legs spread apart
In front of an oncoming train

I’d rather sand my feet till bloody
And then walk a mile on salt
I’d rather stand in front of Anna Sacoolas
And politely ask her to halt
I’d rather slightly irk Jonathan Ross
And tell him I'm not mad it’s my fault
Or be trapped with angry hornets
Covered in honey inside a vault

I’d rather saw off my own leg
And stick glass inside the stump
I’d rather let Maicon Cintra
Teach me to bungee jump
I’d rather split my arse open
Whilst taking a massive dump
These are all the thing I’d rather do
Than shake hands with Donald Trump