Justa two-bit masterpiece darlin’
shady lady on the old pine box.
Jiggin’ an’ jankin’ to her own swell tunes
drippin’ pink like a hot steak stuck,
wailin’ to the world about love’s labors tossed,
not even carin’ her skirt’s round her calves.
Swirlin’ hair, crusty and kissably course,
whappin’ fellas that get too close…
The bottle beggin’ mercy in her paw
is all the explanation needed.
That an’ the blood on her lip,
shamefully brilliant an’ sweet.
The matrons tsk-tsk, the elders shake their hoary heads,
Children can’t tell wether to cry or laugh or both.
That piano player stopped a long ways back
Mostly ‘cause she told him to.
He was throwing her off with his church music, she said;
‘sides, her man didn’t hold no truck with that kind of music.
Poundin’ now to break the boards,
kneelin’ on her torn up knees,
leavin’ more blood ever where…
Pleadin’ an’ screamin’ sumptin fierce –
She didn’t mean it, she didn’t mean it.
Layin’ down to love the splintered raw wood,
droppin’ the bottle, kissin’ him as only she can manage.
Nobody’s even tryin’ to stop her
it’s not that they’re scairt so much as they’re sorry.