"outlaw" poems
In a broken down hut
In the middle of the wood
Nor pizza hut nor Squirrel's nut
Can calmly describe that, that could
And somewhere within thy
Lies a seemingly twisted fate
Where two old hags bye and bye
Will simultaneously copulate
It would arise my suspicion
Should there be a banana
and henceforth there be a petition
To Outlaw that Repulsive banana
For one to see into the future
Monkeys would be granted intelligence
Causing bananas to nurture
and my brain to be punctured by a fence
If you still can't see
That bananas are a fruit
Then I guess you will have to ***
While gassing toot toot
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
<Loud as you can say it>
I am Outlaw!
-call me Pirate!
I live such freedom,
all souls admire it!
The awful God,
has judged my soul,
Weighs his measure,
I'll pay my toll!
<In a high-pitched voice>
The sailor's way,
path unknown,
Stars are clouded,
nothing shown?
The sea's are high,
a storm is here,
Davey Jones' Locker,
my home is near.
<Loud again, yell it>
There is no heaven,
there is no hell,
Life on seas,
the seas they swell,
Fish scales on arms,
scales on my legs,
Heart born free,
dread-locked and dregs!
I am Outlaw!
-call me Pirate!
Lost lives redeemed,
some should admire it,
The ship upended,
all hands to drown,
In Davey Jones' Locker,
a peaceful sound...
<In a high-pitched voice>
The sailor's way,
path unknown,
Stars are clouded,
nothing shown?
My time has ended,
fate is near,
Davey Jones' Locker,
my death is here.
<Loud again, yell it>
I am Outlaw!
-call me Pirate!
A man of valor,
some do admire it.
I am Outlaw!
-call me Pirate!
A dreadful life,
though some desire it.
I am Outlaw!
-call me Pirate!
To Davey Jones' Locker,
my deeds require it.
I am Outlaw!
-call me Pirate!
I AM OUTLAW!
-CALL ME PIRATE!
I am Outlaw!!
-call me Pirate!
My life on the ocean,
my God inside it.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 11:56 PM UTC
May I present a challenge?
Imagine if you will
You have created a flying explosive device
And it needs a name that will thrill.
A name, a good name, which name?
Well, none of those below.
Some twisted suits have already used them.
**** EVEN Tacit Rainbow.
What really goes through their minds?
As they sit and discuss the name
Of their creation that's destined to ****
Butcher, destroy and maim.
Just try if you can
To read the whole of this edited list
Imagine how many have exploded of each
With out angrily clenching your fist
Little John
Honest John
Hellfire
Matador
HARM
Terrier
Nike-Ajax
Corporal
Sea Sparrow
Redstone
Bullpup
Mace
Nike-Hercules
Regulus II
Atlas
Thor
Lacrosse
Jupiter
Quail
Hawk
Tartar
Falcon
Polaris
Hound Dog
Pershing
Entac
Firebee
Shelduck
Jayhawk
Cardinal
Firefly
Petrel
Redhead/Roadrunner
Redeye
Mauler
Skybolt
Nike Zeus/Spartan
Condor
Phoenix
Typhon MR
Falconer
Overseer
Taurus
Kingfisher
Cardinal
Walleye
Hornet
Maverick
Big Q
Minuteman
Blue Eye
Viper
Firebolt
Bulldog
Harpoon
Focus
Perseus
Firefly
Stinger
Compass Dwell
B-Gull
Agile
Seekbat
Delta Dagger
Thunderbolt[7]
Patriot
Aquila
Teleplane
Streaker
Tomahawk
Firebrand
Roland
Peacekeeper
Penguin
Pave Tiger/Seek Spinner
Sidearm
Skipper
Wasp
Sea Lance
Ripper[7]
Trident II
Midgetman
Tacit Rainbow
Pave Cricket
Have Nap
Peregrine
Exdrone
Javelin
Pointer
Hunter
Coyote
Skeeter
Outlaw
Wow, you're still reading
And you've managed not to throw up.
Just wondering how many innocent victims
Of a tax funded device called Bullpup.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
An Oklahoma politician
wants to outlaw hoodies
in the hood
It's true, it must be
I read it in Fox News :)
I'd sooner be in Missouri or Cleveland
or New York City where you don't have to
wear a hoody or raise your hands to get shot
There are other things more pressing
than hoodies in the hood
that don't need ironing
like hoods in suits
and the elephant in the room
that needs shooting.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC
EᔕᔕᕼI ᑕOᑎT.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Lyn sniffles as Ainhara gives her a
handkerchief which she uses to
wipe her tears.
"Thank you, guys," Lyn whispers,
giving them a weak smile.
'Well, at least she smiles,' Esshi
thought.
Ainhara has a bright smile. "My lady,
your lady mother gave Bael orders to
make this soup for you. She instructs
that you eat this."
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
When Esshi pushes the serving trolley
to her Queen's side, she lifts the gold lid
and Lyn looks at the soup; steaming
kale in a beefy broth with chopped
peppered sausages, lamb cubes,
onions, garlic, mint chopped potatoes
and carrots.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Kale, really? I hate kale," Lyn whines,
gently pushing the bowl away. "I don't want it!"
Esshi and Ainhara look at each other and smile.
*'Still acts like a child when her lady mother
commands she eats her vegetables!'* giggles Esshi.
"Your mother says you must eat it, My Lady."
Ainhara chuckles. "It will help with reduce
your stress and help relax your body."
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Lyn sighs and mutters under her breath,
"I hate it when she does this! She knows
I hate the smell of kale! I swear, I'm going
to outlaw the vegetable!" She held hers
nose up and huffs at the end of her
statement, making Ainhara and Esshi smile.
'At least she is in better spirits now.'
thought Esshi.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
stone cold killa
knockin' fellas off
they feet, ****** on the bay
writing poetry and
pushing bodies in the lake
she's a killa, man
get off on false promises
of commitment
no 5-o's, no weapon clues
no witness
i'm dead broke
i'm her next target
spending money on happiness
a poem like a wandering outlaw
us, causing sinister stares under the sunset
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 4:52 AM UTC
Of woman's strength
Feminine emotion
Novice poet of rhyme
Wandering traveler in time
A skilled hunter
I am an outlaw
Choosing not to embrace conformity
Or integrate into the system
Societies matrix
The definition of normal
Existing uneasily on the fringe
Confederate born
Southern bred
I fly my flag with pride overhead
Not out of hate
To represent the heritage of my birth
A scholar
Obscurity is my chosen environment
Connoisseur of the written word
The yellowed paper soon obsolete
These are my many attributions
I will not dispute it
Indeed I am a maze of confusion
In the conscious world
I am a strange combination
All Rights Reserved@ Tammy M Darby
All Material Stored in Author Base Sept. 2013
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 1:09 AM UTC
the tick in the clock
the chatter of an ignition
dishes clanking
Mr. Everywhere
nowhere to be seen
the lungs don't show the lifetime spent escaping
times are cold
but it's too hot in the kitchen
make me a transient drifter
with a handkerchief on a stick
eating an apple
in a boxcar making it's way through cold night
make me disappear a wrangler
an outlaw
delete my typos
and move me to the recycling bin
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
all of
America’s
gubmint hatin
yahoos, pining
to get their
country back,
should grab
yer rifles, stock
up on ammo
and giddy up
down to Texas
to join the
secessionists
headin out
of the Union
Rick Perry
promises to
keep his promise
to close all the
gubmint departments
he can't remember
the names of
Ron Paul will
finally be liberated
from the tyranny
of his federal
paycheck and
can return to
his district to
practice medicine
unencumbered
by the acceptance
of medicare
payments
Ted Cruz will
move to coronate
his Cuban born
daddy as Viceroy
for life of the
western hemispheres
newest banana
republic
the last act of
of the Compartment
of Education will be
to turn every
public school
into a Holy Ghostin
Jehovah meetin
house
Judicial magistrates
will criminalize
poor people
or just make
them slaves
and all prisons
will be turned
into profit driven
plantations,
overseen by
the local
Sheriffs who
will be paid
time and a
half and 15%
of all profits
unfortunately
the Cowboy’s
will lose it’s
moniker as
America’s Team
if rattlesnake
booted
Jerry Jones
can’t make a
deal to turn
his stadium
into a sovereign
independent
territory as a
protectorate
of the USA
To assure
national purity
Texans will
build a Jericho
style wall to
define the boundaries
of their heavenly
kingdom and outlaw
all trumpet playing
within earshot
of their perturbed
borders
The Eyes of
Texas as the
state anthem
will need to
be reworded
The final stanza
will be changed
to "Until Gabriel
blows his nose"
keepin the ungodly
out and the chosen
people safely
insulated within
the shining
Lone Star State
will rise again
as a solitary
confederacy
of dunces
Music Selection:
The Eyes of Texas
Oakland
11/18/13
jbm
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
to a friend
No! those days are gone away
And their hours are old and gray,
And their minutes buried all
Under the down-trodden pall
Of the leaves of many years:
Many times have winter's shears,
Frozen North, and chilling East,
Sounded tempests to the feast
Of the forest's whispering fleeces,
Since men knew nor rent nor leases.
No, the bugle sounds no more,
And the twanging bow no more;
Silent is the ivory shrill
Past the heath and up the hill;
There is no mid-forest laugh,
Where lone Echo gives the half
To some wight, amaz'd to hear
Jesting, deep in forest drear.
On the fairest time of June
You may go, with sun or moon,
Or the seven stars to light you,
Or the polar ray to right you;
But you never may behold
Little John, or Robin bold;
Never one, of all the clan,
Thrumming on an empty can
Some old hunting ditty, while
He doth his green way beguile
To fair hostess Merriment,
Down beside the pasture Trent;
For he left the merry tale
Messenger for spicy ale.
Gone, the merry morris din;
Gone, the song of Gamelyn;
Gone, the tough-belted outlaw
Idling in the "grenè shawe";
All are gone away and past!
And if Robin should be cast
Sudden from his turfed grave,
And if Marian should have
Once again her forest days,
She would weep, and he would craze:
He would swear, for all his oaks,
Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes,
Have rotted on the briny seas;
She would weep that her wild bees
Sang not to her--strange! that honey
Can't be got without hard money!
So it is: yet let us sing,
Honour to the old bow-string!
Honour to the bugle-horn!
Honour to the woods unshorn!
Honour to the Lincoln green!
Honour to the archer keen!
Honour to tight little John,
And the horse he rode upon!
Honour to bold Robin Hood,
Sleeping in the underwood!
Honour to maid Marian,
And to all the Sherwood-clan!
Though their days have hurried by
Let us two a burden try.
3k
Smuggler of the goods of life,
...rugged Hero, brawn and bone.
Laser pistol, utility belt...
Ship of speed you call a home.
Smuggler of the goods of life,
...outlaw cast into his place.
Wookie brother, strange alliance...
Transgress all rules, the laws of space.
Solo,
you are not and now,
...all of space filled in-kind.
An Empire awaits you...
You smuggler of the goods of life.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 10:36 AM UTC
Come see black night. Black night proposes
more
Than madness in a prophet's dream, sets free
A lean uncertainty, sweet taste of all
We dare not see.
My sweet Kathryn, you were older than me,
Knew all the black mountains--Olson, Creely, Duncan, Morley, Dorn... While I
was learning
Levertov. Your dark, unshaven armpits
Drove me wild. I understood the honor
Of that crazy night--how could feather leave you--
our dance at the outlaw bar,
Your sapphic gaze bemused by coal miners,
In cowboy boots, as the band played Haggard,
Coe, Willie, Waylon, Johnny Cash, Kristofferson
& Emmy Lou. I wouldn't trade it for a date
With Miss Brazil, or Russia as it were--
Some people say you made that up,
Changed heritage and grew the hair to seem more European. I couldn't care
Less. A great dark mystery I loved
Now thirty-seven years ago with me
Just old enough to drink and you come down
From Bingington, I loved the way you said
That frozen town, where your husband lingered,
Teaching English to native speakers.
I know you still loved him. I think you loved
Me, but needed a woman's touch the same
As I. Strange how a night can be recalled
More than years, one drunken naked sunrise,
Pillow talk instead of class. I ditched the speech
At PBK, can't remember what they
Fed us, coming for you in a straight shift
Chevy pickup, red as the night was black.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
Yesterday she was nowhere to be found
In the earth or under the earth.
Suddenly she is all here - a bright soon
Of a tomorrow in earnest and potluck joy, embers and pyres, iris and the merriment of ochre.
A star groomed by outer space - spilling wet ash
And fissured out by the tailored saw of the wood.
Now something is stirring in the smolder.
We call it a girl.
Still wowed.
She has no idea where she is.
Her eyes, chalcedony stones, explore ripening doomsday and an ivory moon rock.
Is this the world?
It confuses her. It is a great numbness.
She pulls herself together, rousing to the new weight of things
And to that maternal figure nuzzling her, and to her down burrow.
She rests
From the first infinite shock of light, the empty laze
Of the curious and their curious questions -
What has happened? What am I?
Her ears keep on inquiring, blissfully.
But her legs are impatient,
Mending from so long nothingnesses
Her tiny hands are restless with ideas, they start to try a few out,
Swaying this way and that,
Grasping for balance, learning fast -
And she's suddenly upright
And stretching - a giant hand
Strokes her from top to toe
Perfecting her outline, as she tightens
The knot of herself.
Now she comes to -
Bold, beautiful - Argentina
Over the weird world. Her nose
crimson and magnetic, draws her, consciously sounding,
A petite yaff, aimed towards her mother. And the world is warm
And gentle and softens her daze. Touch by touch
Everything fits her together.
Soon she'll almost be a woman.
She wants to be a Woman,
Pretending each day more and more Woman
Till she's the perfect Woman. The immortal Woman
Will surge through her, weightless, unbound, a twirling flame
Beneath silver gusts,
It will coil her eyeballs and her heels
In a single outlaw fright - like the awe
Between mortar and firework.
And curve her neck, like a crocodile emerging from the placid pond
Among lilies,
And fling the new moons over her shimmery banner,
All the full moons and the dark moons.
Booming, ineffable delight.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty *****
If it don't fit, don't force it
You can lubricate it, so you can appreciate it
Oops, did I say that out loud?
Wearing Dr Dre is a ***** when you make a glitch
**** this gun like a real cool chick
It's barrels aren’t that hot or that ******* thick
And when it comes, blow your brains, while you’re still in cuffs
Elvis offended nerds, while doing those pelvic thrusts
But, he was merely having fun and just being ******* futuristic
While your parents were secretly playing with ***** vibrating plastic
I used to call myself at that time, ‘The Magnificent One’
Hell, I don't call myself that now, but I still believe it to be true
At the time, the frigid white kids would only spectate from the lower balcony
While some ***** white kinds, were leaping over with jealousy, to get downstairs
Because, that's where the black dudes would occasionally perform, their ****** affairs
Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty *****
Protect yourself with a little soap bubble
If you want help, I can go pop, without getting into too much trouble
Oops, did I say that out loud?
Wearing Dr Dre can mean defeat when others hear your beat
How can I put the creeps down, when I've been creeping from afar?
I'm another mother fuckin' world wide pop star
They called me, ‘A Hip-Hop Bipolar Southpaw’
Always left swinging up and down like a friggin outlaw
They warned you that, I would drive all the the kiddies insane
So don't blame me for the way your kids now truly reign
Bling Bang Boom
Tight little itty-bitty *****
Thank you for being so sweet and ever so cute
Next time remind me, to always switch the ****** to mute
Oops, did I say that out loud?
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 6:37 PM UTC
its tha return of tha gangsta thanks to ya
too many blacks out here livin' they life in fear
families seeing tears problems tier
blurry visions make it hard to see clear my dear
cant get through the atmosphere
feel me it's the return of the gangsta I'd like to thank ya
Malcolm for giving me the principles and reaching a few people's
opening minds to grinds and you'll find
me chilling on the corner puffing marijuana yep I'm a gonna
in society outlaw outcast put my thoughts on blast
techs is humming cuz I smell war coming armies drumming
po folks crying innocent victims dying
for no apparent reasons caught in daily treasons which gives me a reasons to put an end to Americas sin but too many folks stuck in
a fantAsy called reality in actuality
they plotting our burials G
troops overseas findings empty caves so the government can make saves war profiteers racketeering gangsters hustlers
exposing lies don't be a busta like a Douglass no diamonds in my cutlass couldn't move so I had cut less people out of my circle I'm nerdy as urkel yea my intellect carefully selects
what's real from reality I envision myself as well as my enemies in a fatality so battling me I was made for war built off the backs of my ancestors sore yea white house was built by the slaves for white supremacy kind of irony they sayin' my folks was lazy?
worked up from Sun up to Sun down
I can't believe my folks walking with they heads towards the grounds
how bout we get mad and let off gun sounds pound for pound
you know they can't hang with us
that's why they had to make laws against us
scared of rise and corruptions ain't a surprise through the eyes
of real people who realize pain ain't a substitution for happiness bliss
I guess I was sunkissed
by wisdom mouth open hail Mary entered me and told me
we all family eyes lit no **** no fit nothing
but a glowing brain exemption of fame down goes my name
in the book of life made wisdom my wife
she took my arm she's my charm
as I glance at the souls gunned down on plantations farms gangsta....
Feb 21, 2017
Feb 21, 2017 at 2:49 PM UTC
I'm just another
Voice mail..
Unanswered E-mail..
Unheard prayer ..
Whisper on a scream..
Outlaw..
Outcast..
Back burner bygone..
Stumbling block..
For those I was once loved by
And there for
I forgive them
And move forward
Towards a happy ending
I pray you do the same
After all
That's what good people do!
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
Horatio Alger is whispering his stories in my sleeping ear
painting me as a lowly street urchin
who conquers adversities and moral wildernesses
with only my wit, determination, and guts
and he is painting me as a phoenix of the new world
rising from ashes of banality and
the naturalized familial trappings of my past
a dirt road in the socioeconomic desert
carved out with care by the hands of forefathers I will never know
but Mr. Alger died a long while ago
and the sun inevitably rises
shattering the stained glass story of my rags turned riches
now the big men upstairs
jot me down as numbers on a chart
of consumption trends of millennials
Go to college
they say
make something of yourself
they say
you are all too entitled
they say
What went wrong
they say without a hint of contradiction
I am not equipped to say if the story of humanity
is a cycle or a downwards spiral
I am not equipped to say
that it is the job of every generation
to ensure that they clear the debris
from the path of their progeny
but I say it anyway
everybody want’s a trophy
because we were raised to believe that
everybody deserves a trophy
In the same breath they expect us
to take the puritanical mantle of the breadwinner
the frayed saddle of the noble western outlaw
the lethally honed sword of the entrepreneur
the martyr making cross of the socially conscious family man
and then wonder why we so willingly
give ourselves over to the currents
of apathy and passivity and masochistic narcissism
giving us guns and bullets with no idea how to shoot them
so instead we turn them into sculptures of modern art
and scream to the empty heavens
for just a hint of recognition
I can’t decide if history will forget us
or memorize the lyrics of our collective heart beats
but I have decided
to wake up from my American Dream
have decided
to forge my own reality
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
It aint just the blue collar or the hands in the dirt
or the coal on the belt line or the paint on the shirt
or the dust from the cowboy and the cattle he's drivin'
or the eighteen wheels rollin and the gravel thats flyin'
my best friends named Sparky, he works in the mine
six miles deep, come rain or come shine
dont take lip from no one, ive seen him move fast
give him some **** and he'll hand you your ***
I got a buddy called Outlaw, he rolls eighteen wheels
sometimes nine in a corner with the logs on his heels
he aint scared of nothin, says he dont like to fight
says hes just exercisin' for the long haul tonight
my ol man swung a hammer for most of his life
he earned blood sweat and tears
but he came out alright
might be a church in the city or a cabin far from town
but he''ll die in his tool belts before he'll die sittin down.
it aint just the blue collar or the blood in the dirt,
or the coal beneath your skin or the scars from the work,
or the rope burns on your hands and yet you keep ridin
its just the breath thats the difference between livin and dyin.
(c) 2013 CJM
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
i fought for my country defended my flag
i'll do what i must to support that old rag
i don't drink craft beers
that just ai'nt my bag
i'm just an old outlaw at heart
if there's a chance i will take it
give me a choice and i'll make it
i speak the truth , i don't fake it
i'm an old outlaw at heart
Rules to be broken and highways to ride
I can do both without breaking my stride
I show you one face, but deep down inside
I'm an old outlaw at heart
I'm just a truck driving black hatted man
I defend my beliefs the best that I can
I belief in the flag that flies over our land
I'm an old outlaw at heart
I'll tell you my truths, like it or not
You may not like it, it's the best that I got
I know the pledge of allegiance, each dash and dot
I'm an old outlaw at heart
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
*your life you don’t care
You cuss and swear
You play those games
think you’re Jesse James
You cause friction and heat
live your life on the street*
YEAH AH, YEAH YEAH
*You’ve been poppin’ pills
You got over due bills
You’re drunk all the time
on whiskey beer ’n shine
but your time is out
and there ain't no doubt*
(chorus)
*You’re a Renegade Yeah Ah, Yeah Yeah
an outlaw renegade man, Ah Yeah
a Renegade Yeah Ah, Yeah
an outlaw renegade man, Ah Yeah*
*You’re like an angry child
crazy, loud and wild
You play that rock ’n roll
it was born in your soul
You’re fast on the draw
but you can’t beat the law*
(chorus)
*You’re a Renegade Yeah Ah, Yeah Yeah
an outlaw renegade man, Ah Yeah
a Renegade Yeah Ah, Yeah
an outlaw renegade man, Ah Yeah*
RENEGADE!. RENEGADE!. RENEGADE!.
outlaw renegade man, Ah Yeah
**Renegade Yeah Ah, Yeaaaah
Renegade Yeah ah, YEAAAAH!**
written by
Warner Baxter
One Knight Stand Productions
Under A Tangerine Sky Entertainment
Phoenix Arizona 2010
all rights reserved
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
Sometimes I steal
from grocery stores.
Nothing serious of course,
sprigs of cilantro,
basil,
snap garlic cloves,
sleeve a single strip
of green onion,
occasionally, palm a jalapeno
I think it is the tiny thrills
of being a petty villain
that provokes me.
The warm slick sheen
of salty palms,
brow sweat, and
the shivers of pulse
that drums
my heart
when door greeters pull me aside to
verify receipts,
and never notice my aroused pockets
tight and bulging
pickpocket produce.
I'm no outlaw
nor bandit,
I do not pillage or
plunder,
I know the gray lines
that divide
good and bad,
because I'm at one of their
thresholds.
The cashier checks my driver license,
and address before feeding a worthless check
into the scanner
where it gets tagged and stamped
I feel no thrills,
no bad boy euphoria,
I am too numb for elation,
and too numb for shame.
This crime Is justified.
I have three more days
till payday
and hope the check floats
Last week was a short paycheck,
gas prices are high,
rent is past due
cigarettes aren't cheap,
and then there's that drug habit.
I could only write it
for twenty five over.
It's going to be a hard stretch.
I stuff easy cash
into my front pocket
and try to catch the eye of a pretty cashier
an aisle over.
She drags barcodes through laser red eyes
that decodes sale prices
She doesn't notice me,
but she might not be into bad boys
A small girl waits
in a shopping cart
with pigtails
and new teeth,
holding a children cereal that comes with a prize.
Her mother does not see
her kick off her shoe.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
I am an outlaw like Jesse James
I'm not much for playing games
Loyalty is all I demanded
Lies I simply can not stand
Tell to me only truths
Or I'll knock out your ******* tooth
The place we're in is a high stakes game
But in the end you'll be glad you came
We'll float a boat, we'll get real high
While we're cooking, you just might cry
If you have thoughts of rolling over
You'll end up under the sweet, red clover
We're not much on floppy tongue snitches
You'll find they end up in deep dug ditches
But in our canoe you can ride all night
Smoke rolls up it's such a sight
On our boat you can ride for days
Sleep rans fast and far away
So come and play in our devilish way
We'll talk for hours, till there is nothing left to say
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC