For a Cartoon Star

You cannot show me your talent at its epitomy
Because you're highly obsessed with my deep anatomy,
Though I'm still here and ready to be impressed,
Still on with all my buttons ready to be pressed,
Like every single man, you're more attracted to flashlights,
Than to glitters on my body and words 'bout human rights.
Need disco balls instead what you've got to feel good,
A loud music spiced up with loud drums and dark pistols,
Nude dancers, well-fitted, nothing to do with Bristol.
Even if you're shining, you just need some new mud,
To make you enjoy every single taste bud.
Your eyes staring at that screen while they're playing Rosebud,
You're no citizen Kane, and no real Braveheart,
All you paint on your face is far away from fine art.
Posing way too much for a man your age,
You own nothing more than a stupid dog's cage.
Want to buy, though I've told you I am never for sale,
I'm too strong, so don't ever bother to inhale
Me instead of your crack, usually I'm free,
Yet no cheap, so you'll never have a piece of me.