This no neck mother ****er
Whom I dwarf
Could snuff me out on a whim,
And all I want is
To get this band sounding good
And suck down all the Long Island Ice Teas
On the west coast.
Here I am,
Shoving another truckload of chicken sandwich
Into my greasy gullet,
When the cackling dowager
With tits like don't-walk signs
Starts demanding that I escort this
Absolute troll of a man,
A soldier no doubt,
He's got the chip on his shoulder,
That only bathing in whiskey
To wash away the broken record
Of moonlighting as cannon fodder
Can give a guy.
"You don't really want to **** with me, do you?"
His tone is earnest but his vocabulary says no
"Hell no, are you kidding me? I'm a sound guy."
Throwing my hands up in a submissive gesture
I can still feel his disappointment,
The steam hissing from his over-inflated pecks,
He just muttered something and left.
I went back to my arteries and my liver,
"Sorry, where were we?"
