he's got skinny tie daydreams
rolled up in silk oriental shrugs
with bangin' rock pistols slung on his hips
hair too long for mother's liking
lighting matches on his cowboy boot spurs
down on his luck and up on his meds
middle fingers splayed across the pages
in the journal he won't admit to keeping
kicked to curb joints dis location
firing on all fours cylinders
wide awake on ethereal club downers
breaching someones probation somewhere
he's singing fuck you falsettos all the way to the bank
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