After John Prine: “There's flies in the kitchen, I can hear 'em there buzzing, And I ain't done nothing since I woke up today”
Mr. John Prine
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There's flies in the kitchen, all around my eyes and head, they’re just gossiping bout me, why most mornings I’m still laying in bed at almost near noon-time, why too, them angels and their a-fluttering wings, a-flapping, still hanging around, when they’re so far from home
truth be told, I kinda like new combinations, the musical vibes, magic incantations, boogie woogie, fuzzy buzzy eyelash sounds, bluesy background harmonies against the harps them angel wings are playing, I’m getting every note writ down so,
I can play it well on the morrow, on my following them higher up, all the ways up on that glowing shining stairway to heaven, guarantee-****-teeing entrance through the pearly gates for the flies and a lazy, no-account worthless S.O.B. like me