Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Dinking too much whiskey, Behaving sort of risky, Telling lying stories, Tall tales of former glories, Laughing between the tokes, At outrageously bad jokes; We thought we were outlaws, But were tamer than in-laws. Out for a wild ride, Living on the wild side And howling at the moon. The sun will be rising soon. Honking horns at passing cars Toking doobies under the stars, Letting no cuties pass us by Without whistling, my oh my. We were certain we were cool Too ****** to know we were fools. Escapees from the workaday, We ten-mile perimeter ruanways. Out for a wild ride, Living on the wild side And howling at the moon. The sun will be rising soon. Out at night, no three-piece suits, Sandals instead of fruit boots Pegged jeans and rolled up sleeves No fancy stuff with fancy weaves. Prepared for whatever comes Serenaded by engine hum We told each other that we were hot. Even though we knew we were not. Out for a wild ride, Living on the wild side And howling at the moon. The sun will be rising soon.
0
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 12:34 AM UTC
CRUISING
Dinking too much whiskey, Behaving sort of risky, Telling lying stories, Tall tales of former glories, Laughing between the tokes, At outrageously bad jokes; We thought we were outlaws, But were tamer than in-laws. Out for a wild ride, Living on the wild side And howling at the moon. The sun will be rising soon. Honking horns at passing cars Toking doobies under the stars, Letting no cuties pass us by Without whistling, my oh my. We were certain we were cool Too ****** to know we were fools. Escapees from the workaday, We ten-mile perimeter ruanways. Out for a wild ride, Living on the wild side And howling at the moon. The sun will be rising soon. Out at night, no three-piece suits, Sandals instead of fruit boots Pegged jeans and rolled up sleeves No fancy stuff with fancy weaves. Prepared for whatever comes Serenaded by engine hum We told each other that we were hot. Even though we knew we were not. Out for a wild ride, Living on the wild side And howling at the moon. The sun will be rising soon.
brent-kincaid
Written by
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 12:34 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem