you got the sideways grip i’m about to flip your backdrop dizzy spell

puttin’

dents in the padlock cold defying the laws of slingshot a white picket

fence

to separate the stones you stand on before the tide comes in on the

early dawn

the light bulb spins on the horn rims you blister in the sun you’re just a

salt bag spill another salt bag spill cause it’s a green jean battle from

the

burlap i break your ribs and it’s full contact vagabonds you start a war

but

we’re the cream of the crop and you’re the cream of the corn crash

collide and

no good comeback flash in the pan like a burnt short stack but we’ve

got the

butter to let your mud slide you’re slippin’ on down for the test of time

so

i’m pitching my fork in mr. rourke you get the trap door with sawdust

splinters pepper in the jar gettin’ served that dinner slam you like a

screen

door keepin' out the terminal condition you get the oatmeal bath

you’re out of

commission you’re tarred and feathered and covered in lacquer and

your head’s

in a bucket that’s ringing with laughter