#GodsGiftsToWoman

HOW’d SHE GIT THEM BRITCHeS ON?

Slap your gram-maw, mine passed on to the great beyond before their times, all grand ones
Kidding or not, the fiction remains as the Truth’s reality, nobody gets out alive, y’all gotta go
Somewhere out of this Earth’s pervue there’s no place like Home, no place at all to play ball
Marchin’ onto the big dance but I didn’t know how, I played 8-ball & threw darts at the wall.

Brew and Mash for the boys and beer for my horses too, dust needs to be swallowed, I spit
Chaw chewed tobacco from the natives was the addiction we couldn’t avoid, all fell in love
Doctorates can’t help the addicted, mentally unhealed inheritance of the third human eye
Moneymakers for y’all & for me, laws prohibit taxation without representation, until you die.

Think corpus dillecti a moment, won’t be able to ponder it once it dawns upon bald monks
High or down lower than y’all ever wanna go, shootin’ 8 ball you gotta hustle the loser honks
Being ahead of the cue ball with your stick all chalked-up tip, a little English slides of shtick
No more nor less than perfectly innocent of the blame and credit of paper or hard plastic.

Get ready to be set to go when I give you the signal, you’ll know the sign, only your vision
To be or not to be the all too human spirit and soul of 208 bones, rollin’ blue blood within
Keepin’ the flow goin’ until the final gasp of gas is the whole point of being here to atone
For the wrongs done to the ones with rights, all the karma evens it up at the final moan.

Seen enough, battles in the wars before the young boys and girls with britches yanked up
Moved into the uniforms’ combat boots, striped up or metal bars, clusters or stars in a cup
Alive until they’re dead, regardless of the discharge of honor or loss of O9 pay-grade’s grape
Don’t you think about anything, therefore you don’t exist, a Cartesian form of a UFO shape.

You said, gin, whiskey, bourbon, vodka are fine but 180 proof has no equal, hangover, over
Refused the acceptance of the liberty and freedom of speech, idiot slave owner’s hot lover
Walkin’ slow down boulevards and avenues leading to the target, no way to ever look back
Disappearance into a woodwork’s rhythm & rhyme, knowledge is a stack of clickity-clack.

Trees all forested, made toothpicks and burnt-down houses on dead-end streets’ T bone
Elements disintegrate a left over chunk of subatomic particles, love, charm & an i-phone
Dancin’ on the floor or up in the air above the parkay wood, it’s all in the Eden’s gardener
Everything & all in between it all, the whole shebang has no mercy, good God’s a herder.

Stay in line until you’re sheered or butchered, used to warm bare skin & feed the blood
Like fake vampires yet without liquid flows from source to the guts of carnivorous food
You are what you all eat, someday something will be you when y’all get eaten by honkies
Beepin’ their freaky sounds both day & night, extinction’s comin’, wait for it ye Monkeys!

by

r j j  stephan, i

c.  Samedhi, June 1^st MMXXIV Anno Domini @ 911 AMPST

{ Crafted as I jammed to @CarlosSantana feat. @RobThomas link #SMOOTH @ https://youtu.be/6Whgn_iE5uc?si=DDqUS2jJsl5c8PqE }

F I N I S

W.W.A.R.D.?