"rockin" poems
[Chorus:]
I make ******* insecure
Ah, I make ******* insecure
I make bitches's insecure
It not my fault that I rock you ****** world [x2]
[Verse 1]
Hold up let me catch my breath
Why you hoes jockin on me here gettin bread
Pockets stay fat like I just won the menu
Couldn't catch it open if I had no [?] click
He neva met a ***** like me
And he knew he couldn't have me
So he told his ***** to get like me
Miss pinky I'm rockin ****** world
Call me bird cause I can **** on any nighaa and his girl
Yea I'm cocky and ***** I got a reason
Name one chick set trends all season
Stay on my grind, cause you know yo girl the ****
And I'm not like cream, but I can get yo nigha wet
Everywhere I go I'm the center of attention,
****** tryna show off and get my attention
Did I mention
They call me miss distraction,
Cause I can split a ***** from his ***** like a fraction
[Chorus]
[verse 2]
Throw me my mic, no need for an intro
Falen don't act like you don't know
I mess it up stay jerkin, everyone must stare
My steeze so hot it can straighten your hair
Comin through like a raven,
My jerkin videos, stay on dudes pages
I'm that bomb nigha I'm nuclear
Don't call me
I'm like solar we stand out yea
***** we bright, skinny jeans
Yea ***** we tight yup yup that's right
So complex have the crowd restless
While I'm yellin out we the baddest (we the baddest)
No love honey
Slap ****** and take they money
I'm money hungry
**** so lovely
Flirt so EFF, ingggg DOPE .! !
[Chorus]
[Verse 3]
***** *** ******* wanna talk ****
Cause I'm that *****
And don't call me a bad *****
Call me a average *****
I'm badder
I more than
You hoes be lacking
It's like I'm the teacher when I be rappin
My flow so sick, when I'm done they start clappin
I put a bullet through your chest
***** they up on me tryna **** with it
Tryna get up in my ******* like I'm some kinda hoochie
Don't **** a ***** ***** cause they all boogie boogie
Yea and I'm 2 fly To **** with you
No I'm 3 fly everbody know me know
Yea an I'm so fly they be on me, on me.
[Chorus]
[Verse 4]
Money money money
Thats all I wrote
I stay on top
Your the water I'm the boat
Alway a **** and never a ***
I stay with mo plus ****** plus dough
Young in the game but I ain't a little girl
It jus take ten nigaas to rock my world
Rock rock my world, yea rock my world
So, I want you you you plus you
Plus the boy back there lookin cute in the blue
(You kinda cute)
People hate me cause they can't do what I do
Mean muggin I laugh at you
I took you man then stole yo boo
Blah blah it's true
Heart so cold like a freakin igloo
Got all these nighas like boo hoo
And on these tracks I go cookoo
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
I come from New Orleans where the swingers hook up with the singers, and the boxes have a person inside who speak to you through a thick horizontal slot in the door. You come from Minnesota where the most aggressive sentence is “Hi, how are you” and you’ve attended church every Sunday of your life, even though you don’t really believe in god.
We came to the West to skate with the surfer junkies. But then the harbors got bombed and we moved out East to see the hipsters and the artists beggin on the streets. We went to the South with the racists and bigots were dying for a good show. We moved up North to escape from the 70s, and with the 80s on the rise we figured we’d best stay away.
The 70s were rockin’ with **** and LSD in parks and concerts, and on benches on the streets. The smoke in the air was everywhere, from the slums in Wisconsin to the cities of Dallas. Even the poor were lost in the haze.
When the 80s arrived with Rock ‘n’ Roll and techno beats from windowsills upstairs. The music was groovin’ and the ladies were fine. We saw billboards of our names in neon orange lights. The *** was replaced by coke, and the LSD with ****** singing and swinging with delight in our eyes.
When the AIDS broke out we were sick in our beds listening to Pink Floyd and Elton John, and still we were singing. The 70s got us high while the 80s made us die
We lived through wars in Vietnam, and Korea; we fought back the communists with red ink on our hands. We broke down the door into China and got them to arrive in the present and join the world. Although their chairman sits on a chair of lies he leads them with an angry fist in the air pumping “three cheers for Mao”. “Three cheers for Mao”.
When the Soviets launched themselves to the moon we responded with our money and flashed our shiny new machinery in their faces. We marked our territory and claimed triumphantly that “We’re the best”. And we launched our war nukes and pinned them into intimidation. Then the Cubans sought revenge for the death of the Pigs on their Bay. With rifles in hand we stormed the beach and unearthed Castro and his regime.
With our beds soaked in blood, and our dreams covered with fog, hand in hand we lay. We recalled the dances in the backs of old Cafes where the passwords were as simple as three quick knocks and two slow ones. We remembered the guns that pierced the heavenly chorus for the negros in the south. And we thought about the music of the 70s and the death in the 80s and I thought about you for a minute more.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 4:29 PM UTC
Memaw & Pepaw ..Mason Dixon Saturday night,
Just sippin' muscadine wine by the Tennessee moonlight
Rockin' chairs...Zenith Black and White
Roy, Buck, Minnie Pearl a Hee Haw delight.
Crickets a chirpin' and a Frogs a croakin'
Toe tapin' rhythm's got em all in motion.
Corn fields swaying like a metronome
Watching those two dance to cotton eye Joe!
Sunday mornings best at the Church of Christ,
Me, I'm Thinkin' bout Memaws country gravy, my fav-o-rite!
Fried Chicken, taters, eggs sunny side right,
These are the memories I like to recite.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 12:19 PM UTC
My dear summers dream was to the taste cream
Pass me the triple beam the microphone fiend
Back on the scene simplicity is your complexity
So amazingly like grace I be rockin' the place
Like we Studio 54 shut down the doors
Once the bubbly pours and the **** adores
Ya mental **** ya sentimentals and these new aged millennials
They too satirical I make miracles flow potholes
Creatin' mass mayhem your an inconvenience
Cuz of ya hesitance my presence is known
Without even being shown paragraphs of stone
Hard to crack waxing tracks like a shark attack
Felonious acts we never back down
Til my soul drown in the core of the earth
Royalties since birth new my worth they tried to mirth
At my pain tryna change the game cuz all these cowards
Saying the same thang got dang got dang
Time to chess box like Wu Tang leavin' a stain
On ya reign no tears though I'll be on solo
Rippin' up instrumentals ya know how we do so...yeahhh
From the Sunny to bees that make the honey
Sticky icky like my spliffs be call me smokey
Puttin' fire to mother natures forests check the creases I
unleashes
Rap game mafiaso so so better back back
Or else get dropped lika Domino so here we go!
Here we go!
With the ghetto jams love girls with the derriere's of Pam
Got **** once again it's time to slam
Mics harder than Shawn Kemp ya flows shrimp
That's why ya girl calls me Mr **** no limp
Slick as Rick hello young world tilt and a whirl
Catch the swirl of Qatar Pearls on the neck of ya girl
Suckas better know I'm coming with a blow
Harder than Bowe combined with a super glow
black Saiyan raps slayin' turntables layin'
So I can get wicked lyrics Pickett
like Wilson
Flows in unison formation
of words
Herds a violent surge
feel the purge
We high rising no disguisin'
knockin' out Suckas who jivin' ain't none survivin' ?
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And round the Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
And down to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s Own County, Yay!
Yull see ‘em rambling at Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.
Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.
Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.
So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes 're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.
Paul Butters
(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
They’ll be rockin’ in Heaven
Down St. Peter’s Gate Way.
Chuck Berry passed over,
But he still can play.
True King of Rock,
He’ll live for evermore.
And he’ll keep duck walking,
Along that golden shore.
His guitar keeps twanging,
Wah wah tlang tang tang.
Ya want a Showman?
Chuck’s still yer man.
He died at ninety.
It was very sad.
But now he’s up there,
I’m sure that God is glad.
He’ll love that Rock N Roll Music,
Chuck’s sense of humour too.
A touch of Devil also,
When he sings the blues.
So all you Saints and Angels,
You better move and hurry,
For they all want to dance with
That amazing Chuck Berry.
Paul Butters
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 6:10 AM UTC
Nothing ****** me off more
Than when people call me
Pretty
I get it, okay?
We live in a society that upholds beauty
As the most important quality
A girl can possess
So girls who aren't pretty
Feel like less
And guys, knowing this,
Call girls who were not gifted
With a symmetrical face
Proportional features
Or a "rockin'" body
Girls who rank on the lower end
Of that wretched scale
From one to ten
Pretty
Beautiful, attractive
**** exquisite
Gorgeous, lovely
Stunning, hot
And those girls
Those amazing, ugly girls
Infused with insecurities
Self-loathing
And sadness
Give in to those words
Give in to those guys
Believing, if only for a brief,
Tenderless moment
That those pretty words
Do apply
But I am not interested
In false accolades
If you don't find me pretty
Then don't say so
I have plenty of fine qualities
For you to compliment me on
Praise my wit, my charm
My intelligence, my confidence
Things I cultivate
Things I strive to be
Qualities
That complement me
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC
Going out,
getting good.
All gothed-out,
glamorous.
Drop-dead.
Gore-geoous.
It's a curse.
Only
the truly beautiful at <3,
have it.
Talent.
Get it.
Dig it.
Dug it.
GOOD :)
I am just every drop of blood
the razor blades
made
me.
Drag downers
dragging themselves along
the skin surface
of my blood-flow
free way.
Wrists.
While,
I am screaming.
"I hate you" .
At the top of my black-tar
******
coated-codine lungs.
Yogurrrrr?
Help a ***** out.
&
go check on that crack pipe.
Uhhh.
I mean check the pipe for crack.
Cuz dem smokey rocks
make a bruthah go
cray-cray.
Welcome to the Goth Opera.
I'm just playing pretend,
anti-christ tonight.
Jun 7, 2012
Jun 7, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC
Sitting round the barbecue
there's Paddy, Jeff and me
Mary is on Paddy's right
as happy as can be
Kath is sitting next to Jon
while Chrissy chats with Fay
Paddy passes round the brew
on an orange, plastic tray
Someone grabs a guitar
and begins a happy song
No one knows the melody
but still we sing along
Over comes old Lucifer
his hooves are keeping time
Three hot dogs on his pitch fork
(and one of them is mine)
"I hate to break this up" he says
"the boss is on his way
And if we don't pass muster
then there will be Hell to pay
So put away that beer my friends
and hide that barbecue
Now everyone look miserable
and maybe we'll get through".
A golden light came shining in
as Jesus crossed the room
Paddy swung a pick ax
and I swept with a broom
And Lucifer he cursed at us
and cracked an evil whip
And then a half gone Fosters
went and fell from Paddy's hip.
You could have heard a pin
drop as that bottle hit the floor
Lucifer just shook his head
he knew what was in store
But Jesus Christ he grabbed
that brew and gave a wicked smile
"For an ice cold pint of Fosters
I would walk a country mile"
So the joint again was rockin’
And Jesus lead the way
He said “if it were up to me
I think that I would stay”
Then he downed another bottle
And he said ‘oh by the way,
My dad would not be cool with
this so hold your tongues, ok?"
We never let the secret slip
and all is right and well
And if you’d like to join
us at this barbecue in Hell
Then we have a simple rule
you see, that everyone abides
You can come and go eternally
but religion stays outside.
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 2:56 AM UTC
Rat Farts
Once again me and my baby have split
now I'm all alone and feeling like doodoo
Im bettin' for sure you thought I'd say ****
can't talk like that when I'm wearin' my tutu
the Doobies in the background rockin' it out
smoked one myself now at least I am writing
stuffing my face with my homemade sour *****
next on my jukebox is a song 5 for fighting
I usually can find a good way to ***** up
too often my mouth gets in the way of my brain
I once stood in front of the asylum with a cup
trying to convince everyone that I was insane
one more hit should make the trip complete
crap, now I spilled a bowl of chili on my shorts
sitting here staring at the warts on my feet
another trip to the doc what can I say but rat farts
Gomer and Morpheus
Sep 26, 2011
Sep 26, 2011 at 8:37 AM UTC
I'm a Kool g rockin' coogis poppin' coochies
Haters get murked like Colhese my rap lease
Debutin' numero uno the heavy weight sumo
Born on Jupiter raised on Earth my heart's colder than Pluto
Mic judo flows stickin' of ya corticals
Check me in the articles I be the broken particle
Of the universal ya need rehearsal **** goin' commerical
I lay raps like a hearse flow for rappers funeral
I a criminal none keep gats by the abdominal rhymin' phenomenal the mighty Apollo
Blazin' my cocoa flippin' crime like Bardellino
One luv to my nino got it locked like a Vegas casino
We checkin' ya dough at the front door so stop ya show
Fronting and stunting once my nines get the hunting
Bullets spikin' like kickers punting raw taunting
Game hungriest similiar to the lochness
Mon-star far from subpar rhymes ride bizzare
A pharcyde takin' ya into a spiritual homicide converged to the angelic hide
Still a crime shame all of 'em say the same
Thing flexin' diamonds on they pinky rings yet another sad soul that sings sub siblings
To the underworld debators contract initiator so you can create a
Pace between the stage and the audience face
**** that rather keep a gat tucked in the front or the back
With wisdom to rack
Imagine that fools breakin' for stats? see where my heart at?
Diggin' reachin' into the minds of the youth with the brutal truths
Chippin' my tooth
From killin' booths once I plot ya will ya loose
bringin' the ghetto blues and cruising *****
Still a sober jealous God am I call me Jehovah
Tactics of a Cobra one strike it's over
Venomous ridiculous hataz so conspicuous
Hatin' us only to anger my artillery surplus and who bust?
More rounds than Matt Dillion coatin' ya brains
With my lyrical penicillin stealin'
Back the spotlight
Catch the bright sunshine that stares into my mind
A Pharoah prophecy laid in the back of me
Head til I touch my final resting bed I'll embed
The realist **** ya ever heard shooting a bird
To all my enemies I blast at 'em with as the bullets herd
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
Look at us, I'm carrying a basket made of trash
and you're carrying a mouse, well
the dog chewed up your glasses
but you're still rockin it
you have a single drop of coffee on your nose,
we're ready to go to D.C.
I had another where-are-we moment, it was fun.
Good, that's downtown Baltimore right there,
****** capital of the world.
An elaborate mural graffiti.
Wall after brick wall.
A rustbelt city like Grand Rapids
Detroit Cincinnati.
Did you sleep well?
Yes I woke up feeling like a clam in a cocoon.
A sea creature inside of a forest insect, okay.
I've wasted too much time on both desire and regret.
Yellow bridge.
Blue-green supports.
Singer on the radio saying, we're young right now.
There's a healthy and an unhealthy way of dealing with pain,
I'm sorry for my selfish behavior in the islands.
I want to go back and leave a better legacy.
'Word.'
Last night to come see you I drove I-95 N, the overpass
and though the rest of the city was really moving
I was all alone up there, it was like
driving in the sky.
We pass signs saying: Icy Conditions:
bridges and ramps freeze first.
And a billboard: Learning Kick Flips
Takes Work, So Does College
We listen to our favorite island song:
love the islands, love the islands, oh.
You look like a rasta snowboarder girl
There's something really right
about having you in this car
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
I'm looking up at
nothing
but a black cloudy sky.
Guess, we better grab
our umbrellas.
&
Rock our rain coats.
It's going to rain......
Torrential, tear-storms
until the Angels below us
feel a little higher.
</3
</3
</3
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 12:35 AM UTC
(truck-drivers, bar-boozers, loser-bar yokles, blue-collar rednecks will all love this smash hit song!!!)
Rockin country genre
"Big Mouth Surgery"
(by david John Clare)
(rockin' country drunk hick juke-box mix)
Wow! She sure does talk a lot... could almost cause a riot
But we don't get... just what she's trying to say
We could hear her fine before... when she used to be quiet
Guess all them new school-words get in the way
We took her to see... a gypsy-psychic-magician
But he wanted more... than we could pay
So we took her down to see... our local town physician
And here's what old doc... had to say
Boys...
"She needs Big Mouth Surgery"
Her tongue is on the blink
She just talks, sqwacks and talks some more
'Cause she don't know how to think
So please don't be stallin'
Her brain is now corrupt
Can't you see that she has fallen'
And she just can't ''shut-up!"
Big Mouth Surgery
Cause no pills seem to work
Hurry please now doctor
Before she drives us all berserk
Big Mouth Surgery
But will it work without a doubt?
Better make it a lobotomy
Before she starts to shout!
(solo)
Our reputations are expensive
While her talk is **** cheap
You just can't tell her nothin'
'Cause a secret she can't keep
No one seems to know
What the fuss is all about
We're just waitin' for her brain
To catch up with her mouth
She needs Big Mouth Surgery
Her mind is on the blink
She always talks, talks and talks all day
Why can't she just please stop & think?
So please don't be stallin'
Her head is all corrupt
Can't you see that she has fallen'
Her fat-mouth can't shut-up!
Big Mouth Surgery
We need to find her a shrink
Hurry please there doctor
Before she drives us all to drink
Big Mouth Surgery
She's heard north, east, west & south
Who gave her brain a laxative?
Got diarrhea of the mouth!
Big Mouth Surgery
No pill can take effect
Hurry please now doctor
She is a mental wreck
Our minds: she made us loose
Her words: just seem to ooze
It's so hard: to take a snooze
We just drown all-day in *****
Beer, Whisky, Wine & ***** . . .
To wash away our ear-ache blues!
Yip Yip Zip Lip! ...Yee Haw!
(c) 2009 David Wayne Clare
CLAIRVOYANT MUSIC / BMI
all rights reserved
in perpetuity
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
It ain’t too bad to be from there
Just ask my family and friends
But it’s too flat, ain’t no way out
The roads are all dead ends.
Sometime soon I’ll find a place
Where the music I’ll enjoy
But for now I keep on tryin’
To escape from Illinois!
There’s a river on the border west
That moves a lot of dirt
Mighty Muddy Mississipp
Drowns the pain and covers hurt
Yeah, I’m movin’ south to New Orleans
Maybe I can find employ
In a blues bar down on Bourbon Street
Escape from Illinois!
Well I stopped a week along the way
When I saw the Gateway Arch.
But the folks out by the airport
Were stagin’ up a march.
Seems a white cop fired a shot that killed
An unarmed teenage boy
Oh yeah, the teenage boy was black,
Escape from Illinois.
Kept walkin’ to the Landing
(Named for Pierre Laclede)
It has most every thing you want
But nothing that you need
Some travelin’ folk told me some news
That made me jump for joy
Memphis maybe had some work
Escape from Illinois!
Found the haunted house called Graceland
And the grave where Elvis lay
Where half a million go each year
(Fifteen thousand every day)
They all want to pay respects
To the rockin’ – rollin’ boy
Put their finger in the bullet holes
Escape from Illinois.
Went downtown, knocked on some doors
Once or twice I went inside
But Beale Street was broken
The travelin’ folks had lied.
‘Cuz there ain’t no jobs in Memphis,
Or maybe I’m too coy
So I hitched a ride to Nashville
Escape from Illinois.
Nashville’s a big old meltin’ ***
Lots of great ones started here
But most end up as tourists
Getting’ ****** and drinkin’ beer
So money’s at a premium
And fame’s a fake decoy
End up workin’ in a record store
Escape from Illinois?
From Asheville to Atlanta
From Austin to LA
From Biloxi back to Baton Rouge
Need a place where I can play
I’ll follow all the buskers,
Form a musical convoy
Livin’ day by day and town by town
Escape from Illinois!
I’m a minstrel, like a rubber band
I keep on snappin’ back
I’m gonna make it somewhere
Singing somewhere, that’s a fact
Got my guitar and my music
Gotta do what I enjoy
Find a place to sing my songs for you,
Hell, it may be Illinois!
Phil Lindsey 6/4/15
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
There was a Rock band playing hard but I didn’t hear them
flashes of lights in the screaming crowd but I couldn’t see them
only your face, drenched in beauty beaming in the middle
pulled your curls over your right ear so I could talk to your dimples..
...then I stood there in your eye’s gaze, swirling in a maze amazed
in wonderland, minus a white rabbit and a white man in a top hat
to get back to the land of the sane, to hear my name in your voice
was insane, no matter how many drinks we already had.
Bohemian eyes, green lights, curly black hair with shades of brown
condensing in your forest sight, setting fire to the entire Amazon
hanging on to the ring that barely bitterly bites your bottom lip,
trying to squeeze that melancholic bohemian smile in-between.
Ripped jeans at the knees, cinnamon skin, low-cut blouse
rockin’ to the guitar’s string, to string me along a flower child
promised to write you a poem while in my mind you were still fresh
even if I didn’t kissed your lips, with my skin I touched your breath.
Then we talked about things while the eavesdropping moon was near
you had a man, it was clear, but that went in and out the other ear
maybe I’ll never see you again, so I’ll take that with a shot of sorrow
because it was no longer yesterday bohemian girl, it was tomorrow.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 9:30 PM UTC
**** Deck
I got rubbery legs and a pain in the neck
sick to my stomach down on the **** deck
I'm rockin and rollin but there isn't a beat
trying so hard to just stay on my feat
the waves or crashing high on the bow
my belly is groaning I sound like a cow
I bounce off the walls first left and then right
been doing the same thing all frigin night
***** bags are stuck to the walls
in the circles and in the halls
some folks are funny they're faces all green
beware of projectiles potatoes and bean
but I'll do it again I'll do it once more
if only I could open this GD door
put my head in the toilet give it a flush
boy that tastes bad where is my tooth brush
yes the seas were high but I was out flat
couldn't sign on couldn't even chat
what's that on the floor aw man what the heck
now I know why they call it the **** deck
Gomer LePoet...
Sep 4, 2011
Sep 4, 2011 at 9:16 AM UTC
It's funny how something as insignificant like a roll of fat in your mid-section or a lack of a thigh gap can make someone have such harsh judgements on someone.
You could be the most amazing girl in the world, but if you don't have a rockin' *** you will be overlooked.
You can be a complete idiot with a great figure and guys will fawn over you like you are life changing.
So it's okay if you don't think i'm good enough, or that i'm worth it.
Because i'm going to lose weight this summer, for me. And then you're going to realize I am the whole package. That you can't have.
You will try. Because I now have the body and the brains.
But it will be too late.
You won't be able to get the hotter version of me.
Too late.
You ****
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
See him wasted on the sidewalk, in his jacket and his jeans
Wearin' yesterday's misfortunes like a smile
Once he had a future, full of money love and dreams
Which he spent like they was goin' outta style
And he keeps right on a'changin', for the better or the worse
Searchin' for a shrine he's never found
Never knowin' if believin', is a blessin' or a curse
Or if the goin' up was worth, the comin' down
He's a poet, an' he's a picker, he's a prophet, an' he's a pusher
He's a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he's ******
He's a walkin' contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction
Takin' ev'ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home
He has tasted good and evil, in your bedrooms and your bars
And he's traded in tomorrow for today
Runnin' from his devils Lord, and reachin' for the stars
And losin' all he loved, along the way
But if this world keeps right on turnin', for the better or the worse
And all he ever gets is older and around
From the rockin' of the cradle, to the rollin' of the hearse
The goin' up was worth, the comin' down
He's a poet, an' he's a picker, he's a prophet, an' he's a pusher
He's a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he's ******
He's a walkin' contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction
Takin' ev'ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home
There's a lot of wrong directions, on that lonely way back home
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And all round Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
Down there to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s County Yay!
Yull see ‘em rambling near Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.
Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.
Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all do hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.
So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.
Paul Butters
(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)
© PB 2\5\2016. Slightly Amended 14\4\2023.
Apr 14, 2023
Apr 14, 2023 at 3:09 PM UTC
( To the tune of Jailhouse Rock )
Party night came to the hp site
Singing and dancing till late at night
Friends dropping by said count us in
Man you shoulda seen them poets swing
Let's rock
Everybody let's rock
They all got together in a flock
Rockin at the hp hop
Well I didn't know you played the saxophone
Frank Zappa Davis on the slide trombone
Along came Embers with a whole brass band
Man that thing was getting out of hand
Let's rock
Everybody let's rock
We were rockin and we couldn't stop
Boppin at the hp hop
Music getting louder as the night wore on
Hands clap feet tap sing that song
Grab hold o' somethin just to play a tune
If you don't play the piano play the wooden spoon
Let's rock
Everybody let's rock
We were givin it all we'd got
Boppin at the hp hop
Someone made a speech, said we're all friends here
We all shed a happy little single tear
Then she said oh for goodness sakes
I love everybody in the whole **** place
Let's rock
Everybody let's rock
Keep it up y'all don't stop
Boppin at the hp hop
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 4:44 PM UTC
Last Christmas Eve, that's when I found her
big *** rocker, lying in the trash
'neath layers of paint, magnolia flowers
still blooming, carved in oak or ash
it's been a while since you've been rockin'
passed along through the hands of time
the story's in you, but you're not talkin'
buried in layers of paint and grime
can't deny she's looking older
halfway home to the pearly gate
a sadder thing the day they sold her
wired her well but sealed her fate
and I declare before I found you
my heart was smoldering in smoke and ash
and I can guess just why they left you
one man's lover, another man's trash
once restored and in your glory
rocking chair, I'll see you though
your wood will breathe and meet the floor boards
worn with time but good as new
Now grab a hold of that big **** rocker
drag her out to the slanty porch
say lookee here you're fit for rockin'
and this old can still carries the torch
we'll work it out, I'm still believing
God's in His rocker at the pearly gate
And here we'll sit with my guitar and
surely bend the rhythm straight!
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
*yonder wave wants to come on in
can't make it go away
try so hard to chase away
steel reserve*
1.
don't come cryin' on yo broken shins
who dat talkin' ova der?
yo muvva just ain't home rite now
take ya scraggy bags
and vamoose outta here
pick up dem rings 'round yo trappin' eyes
and lasso 'em round dat red fin
tackle yo chapped lips
afore dem ships fall in yo calyx-cracks
quit dat naggin' bitch-mouth
here, have dis apple, ma piggie
and dems eyes o' yours dat shine so brite
might as well switch off dat lite
hide dem leather-hands dat look like dry branches
wat, even da desert don't win dis contest
pack dat stupid head in a box
der ain't nuttin' inside a see-through noggin
hide dem silly hopes under a hevvy sea
or bury it under da soles of yo crazi hart
take yo blasted treadin' to some udder place
some dark mine where dey can use yo help
and all dem purty words on pages yo just lurve a-spewin'
ain't no party here for fools no more
2.
den, der some funny rhydm 'gainst ma door
pushin' dat big wave
pushin' dat big wave
I'm a-pushing back jest as hard
but dat wrestlin' wave jest a-growin'
keeps a-knockin'
always rockin'
gonna come crashin' rite in
*ain't no good wishing, ma beloved darlin'
so many fine dreams
running silent
in dem luvverly veins under yo kick-startin' tongue*
yah, yonder waves gonna make a breakthrough
some day...
(mebbe)
S T, 21 augury 2013
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
Rockin' on the front porch
Gazin' down the street
Loathsomely fannin'
Away the Southern Heat
Oppressed hands
Pickin' the days toils
Balmy and wet
Southern Heat never spoils
Whisky bottles bourbon brown
Deep fired and syrupy sweet
Vices to die for
Welcomin' Southern Heat
Clothes pinned on a line
Flappin' in dense air
Mamma starched ‘em stiff
The Southern Heat dressed debonair
There is a trouble around
It smile’s with a firm handshake
Jesus in Confederate Grey
The Southern Heat for the Devils sake
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
I've had my share
of *** and drugs
but I'm not like
those other thugs
I'm a big fan
of rock n' roll
but I'd rather kiss you
than smoke a bowl
I spend lots of time
rockin' out
truely I'd rather
be taking you out
you're such a good girl
I'm such a bad guy
how did such a bad man
catch such a good eye?
you make me
such a happy guy
lifting me beyond
any other high
This "pot-smokin-liberal"
has really lucked out
so excited and happy
so pleased he could shout
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 23, 2009 at 8:52 AM UTC