Koo soo whew , koo soo whew ,
trawrr weet trawrr weet
Piddy shew piddy shew
Treat treat **** --throo heet throo heet
Pwoo troo pwoo troo reet
pwoo troo pwii troo reet
Trigger trigger trigger neat ,
trigger trigger trigger neat
Whipp poor will  whip poor will
Wheww wha wheww , wheww wha wheww* ...

Thank you Tyler for your endless work
Despite your lot on this cruel earth
For a smile and your attention to detail
For a quest to please your customers without
fail* ...

I lean on hot British tea in the early to mid morning
My staple drink of the quiet afternoon
Anytime during the day when things aren't quite right
Always sipping a cup or two late at night* ...

Brick red walls and black rotting roofs , a slothful purpose in every new move
Gutted, paint peeled shacks , revolving attic vents , remembering smoke filled
chimney stacks
Sea oat dancers performing , tin buildings glowing , the aged are growing bold in March sun , long live these abandoned monuments , pray for former champions* ...

Competing sounds turn
to white noise
Headlights sail down the Mill Road
An airplane off to Chicago
Southern railcars whine in route to
New Orleans
Big trucks on the four way , cars on the blacktop ,
firetrucks on the valley road , pickups on the highland ,
concrete thoroughfares , northsiders pay their tolls , commuter
rails scream from above
Jetliners mingle with the stars , a church for every bar ,
a lightning bug for every jar , a ne'er -do -well for every cop
car , white lightning for granny's "fruit jars"
The view of the Milky Way , the beginning of another day ,
deceased wildlife on the motorway , a new dog having his
day
John Deere's turning fields , poor folks making payments on
their light bill , newspeople in the know , laying hens all in a row
White noise divided specifically , chained pits growling maliciously , townsfolk stocking outdoor shelves , government
gorging on mans wealth* ...

Refreshed beneath a rattling fan
The same white house from my
favorite window , the same old trees , the same old window reflecting the same old me
An east wind tells of someones supper a half mile away , red tips
and brown sugar fescue hypnotically sway , the same old trails on another slow moving Sunday* ..

Excuse me St. Peter , can I get in ******
Is there a head shop with a storefront of gold
Can I lay beside living waters with a
fat doobie
Does Michael have a stash of hash he
might allow me to trash
If I could bring a blueberry blunt then
brother I'm in like Flynt
A field of Acapulco gold , truly heaven sent*...