Sitting in my fifty six Chevy
The top down and feeling good.
I love driving in the city
Like I never believed I would.
Girls and guys scope my car
And they wish they had one.
It has a few primer spots but
The car is far from a bad one.

I love my fifty six Chevy
The best one ever made.
Three speeds, six cylinders
Ford never made the grade!

The don’t make them now
They way that they used to.
They’re not made of solid steel
Like the older classic used do.
You kept up with the fluids
Changed the tires when had to.
Give up my wonderful Chevrolet?
Dude, I’d be absolutely mad to.

I love my fifty six Chevy
Never a bit of car trouble.
It’s so much like driving in
A mid-century auto bubble.

It doesn’t have the modern stuff
Like air bags and cruise control
But, still it comes fully equipped
With clout and a whole lot of soul.
Punch it on the straight-away
And watch the other cars go by.
It runs better after half a century
Than most modern cars I can buy.

I love my fifty six Chevy
Much more fun than all the rest.
Back then they made the cars
With stamina and a lot of zest!
It’s a beauty from another day.
Don’t try to take my car away.
It’s bigger, and a bit more heavy,
But I still love my fifty six Chevy!

He always wanted to be a ballerina
To dance so dainty up on his toes.
But everyone could see under his tutu
And the bump they saw was not his nose.
He had the talent and the perfect figure
To perform the balletic steps just right.
There was no way he could ever manage
To keep that ample package out of sight.

Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.

His skin was smooth just like a swaddling baby
There was no concern about flat *******.
Many ballerinas are rather mannish
With not much curvature to their chests.
So he could pass completely undetected
Androgyny was his great good friend
But any moment when he swirled about
Tutu would lift and then spell the spell would end.

Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.

He never really loved the danseur posture
The holds and lifts and hearty leaps about.
But in the world of ballet and its leaders
Ballerina guys are always left out.
Still he danced in tutu at auditions.
He heard the comments, paid them no mind.
If they could not see grandly male Pavlova
That meant that all of them were blind.

Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.

Ziggy was named
By his rock and roll dad
His Mama ran off right away.
Ziggy grew up
Almost on his own
Dad didn’t care what he’d say.
A lady next door
Took pity on Zig and his dad
And sometimes cooked them a meal.
All Ziggy knew
Was this was home life
The stuff on TV wasn’t real.

Ziggy, you’re really a half decent guy
If only you’d look with your heart.
Sometimes you have to say no if you’re asked.
Sometimes you can’t let things start.

Ziggy, don’t run around with those girls
They aren’t a good kind of crowd
They only want you for money and drugs
They’re ****** and awfully loud.
Ziggy don’t go play cards with those guys
They’ll take you for all that you’ve got.
I know you think they are all your good friends.
But, I assure you they’re not.

Ziggy, the world can get to be big
Well before you can cope.
There are uncaring people all over the place
Ready with sweet words and dope.
Ziggy, the people who only like you
When you are not flat broke
Those kinds aren’t worth your concern
Not worth a dime from your poke.

Ziggy, you’re really a half decent guy
If only you’d look with your heart.
Sometimes you have to say no if you’re asked.
Sometimes you can’t let things start.

They call her Truck Stop Tessie
Out I-forty a ways.
Usually you can find her there
Most sunny days.
And even if it’s raining
I am sure if you tried
You still will find Tessie
At the café inside.

She calls herself a housewife
But that would be a lie
She doesn’t ever clean the place
She can’t cook a pie.
She only gets dressed up
To go out on the town.
She a big old mess unless
She’s messing around.

They call her Truck Stop Tessie
Out I-forty a ways.
Usually you can find her there
Most sunny days.
And even if it’s raining
I am sure if you tried
You still will find Tessie
At the café inside.

She’s an old fashioned ******
In a new-fangled dress.
She makes out she’s a lady
But she’s a bit of a mess.
She dropped out of high school
To ride in boy’s cars.
If they make a round-heel movie
She could be the big star.

They call her Truck Stop Tessie
Out I-forty a ways.
Usually you can find her there
Most sunny days.
And even if it’s raining
I am sure if you tried
You still will find Tessie
At the café inside.

She was going with another guy
When it all started out.
He wouldn’t take her dancing
So she started to pout.
Then, he slapped her face a bit,
I stepped in to defend.
I probably should slap myself
Make this nightmare end.

They call her Truck Stop Tessie
Out I-forty a ways.
Usually you can find her there
Most sunny days.
And even if it’s raining
I am sure if you tried
You still will find Tessie
At the café inside.

I miss you and wish I were there
To celebrate the day of your birth.
I would toast to your continued health
And sing out for all I am worth.
I’d exercise my vocal chords well
So that everyone around could hear
That I am delighted for another year.

Three hundred sixty five and so,
The days since your last birthday,
When friends and family take the time
To give cards and cake and say
Congratulations to you, dear heart
And hug you ever so generously.
I wish I could be there with you
To give you one of those hugs from me.

I hope a hundred people call you;
Write and send you clever cards.
I hope they bring you tasty cake
And gifts enough to fill your yard.
Maybe that will keep you so busy
You won’t notice I am not there.
This little bit of rhyming rap
Is to hint at how much I care.

So, this will have to do, I fear,
A Facebook note in poetic form.
It won’t quench your sweet tooth,
But maybe it will keep you warm
When you realize that it means
The love I feel far too distantly,
But don’t let the miles apart
Let you for a moment, forget about me.

I am really not passible
Just **** as possible
For a well-worn *****.
And, they call me Missy
Because I don’t think I can
Act like a masculine man
So spare me your hissy fit
Go someplace and get over it.

I can walk well in high heels
Don’t need any training wheels.
My taste in clothes is excellent
Not the slightest bit recalcitrant.
I’m fully into the new club scene
About half way to a drag queen.
One more piece of women’s wear
I’ll be ready to go about anywhere.

My movements are very delicate
And that is, of course, deliberate.
You get more if you advertise
And some assets I can’t disguise.
I’m six feet tall in my stocking feet
As spicy as Red Hots and twice as sweet.
If you don’t like your she-girls tall
Then you don’t know what’s good at all.

You’ll find me in cabarets, everywhere.
We’ll be up at the bar or in a chair
Showing off our legs and swinging
Lip-synching the words the juke is singing.
We’ll appreciate a drink, if you are buying,
We’ll make your day complete without trying.
We’re full of fun and know lots of jokes.
We’re a short vacation for the right blokes.

(And, no. It is not autobiographical.)

They say the black holes
Are all in outer space;
But I lived with my own,
Hiding behind my face.
There was never a night
As dark as in my mind
And from time to time
It was as if I were blind.

I couldn’t see reality
Or see what was right.
There was no truth
I was afraid to fight.
I heard the helpful words
Of friends worried for me.
But all their kindness
Only managed to bore me.

I told myself I was looking
For something true and pure,
And what that something was
I was never all that sure.
It was something about trust
And feeling I was needed
But drugs and alcohol always
Came in and interceded.

At first it was to help me
To relax and be what I was,
But soon it became a crutch
And I could not see the cause.
When I lost the ability to stop
Once the first drink was taken.
It seemed just a few months
Then my integrity was forsaken.

Still wanting someone to want me,
My heart missing a huge chunk,
I harbored a huge resentment that
Nobody wanted a hopeless drunk.
I kept ranting to God and the world
That I needed a lover to be found.
I never managed to realize
It had to be the other way around.

Then one day I saw that I
Was in a downward spiral.
The disease I was suffering from
Was not something viral.
And I would never get better.
This was how it would be.
The only soul to rescue me
Was me. Only me.

It makes me angry
To see how many people
Don’t act like they are good
Outside the church and steeple.
It’s like someone is keeping book
On how often they appear there
And saying they love Jesus
Is all anyone should care.

There is no holiness in pretending,
When the sins are never-ending.
When the way you choose to walk
Is not the way you choose to talk.

It’s pretty scary
To watch what is happening here
When speeches like Goebbells
And the Nazis is what we hear.
When not speaking the party line
And regular people are demonized
Walk hand-in-hand with rich dreams
And high class crooks are lionized.

It’s called hypocrisy.
The friend of theocracy
For those that feel better
But just follow by the letter.

The first thing the Nazis did
Was take over the popular press
Then made the party philosophy
A religion and that started the mess.
Helping the poor, friending too
Was outlawed for those they hate.
They were made to look like criminals
And unpatriotic outlaws of the state.

There is no holiness in pretending,
When the sins are never-ending.
When the way you choose to walk
Is not the way you choose to talk.

And all was done under the banner,
The blessing of the Christian flag.
They murdered every single
Jew, Communist and those called ***.
They created new chants and songs
And verses so people could sing along
And raise a salute to the elite.
And soon there was nobody to defeat.

It’s called hypocrisy.
The friend of theocracy
For those that feel better
But just follow by the letter.

I was her mean motor scooter
Until a big hunky Harley came along.
I took her out putt-putting
There didn’t seem to be anything wrong
But for a just a little bit more torque
I was left behind ******* in smoke.
When she saw his big old motor
My Cushman eagle looked like a joke.

Putt, putt, putt…
But, but, but…
I really thought I had it made
And now I’m sitting in the shade
On the side of a lonely street.
The race was run and I got beat.

I asked her to a picture show
She smiled and said that would be fine.
Come the day we meant to go
She made and excuse that felt like a line.
She said she had an ailing aunt
But later I saw her get off of his hog.
Now, I feel just like scooter trash,
An unsightly little bump on a log.

Putt, putt, putt…
But, but, but…
I really thought I had it made
And now I’m sitting in the shade
On the side of a lonely street.
The race was run and I got beat.

Don’t get me wrong about her
I don’t really mean to put her down,
She just wanted a bigger deal
With which to tool around the town.
When she sat rode behind me
I really should have guessed you see
She made a kind of vrooming sound
Like I was going ninety three.

Putt, putt, putt…
But, but, but…
I really thought I had it made
And now I’m sitting in the shade
On the side of a lonely street.
The race was run and I got beat.

If you are advocating
The eliminating of humans
Assuming they are less
Than the mess you are, then
You are, by far, among the worst,
The first level of devils living
And I am giving you the name
And the blame for the horror
And am all the sorer that you
Insist I must take it silently
While you slice them, bleeding,
Leading them into the jail
Wailing, calling them names
Then maiming, beating and killing
Even when willing, and agree
To cooperate in your travesty.
In your majesty, you feel you
Are the one true and decent
And as they are your victims
Inherit all the ills that go with them;
Your prisoners that you call *******
And beat their insoles and bare feet,
Drag them off the streets for being poor,
Call the women ****** and trash,
Smash them around and then you
Say they fell down, and your boss agrees
When the prisoner’s knees are broken.
Just another token of how awful
And how stinking terrible they are
Those without cars, or jobs, or houses.
Just human louses in stained blouses
And raggedy clothes. Break their nose.
Nobody cares about them.
You are real men, they are not.
They get what they deserve.
“To protect and serve.”