POTUS’ SCUTTLEBUTT BRAIN TRUST
Too busy for this complicated mess, we can’t get any work done, death snuck-in unheard of
Hillbilly bones deep down inside of men and women in the parties with tater ships of a dove
Born to run and rule the roost of the masses who need to be told where & how to be the herd
They had no idea at birth in Time and Space, queens, kings, princes, princesses of the absurd.
This is my song I’m singing about the city and the country girls, this ain’t no war’s love fest
It’s all in the jeans, those two pegs below your heart and soul’s pretty face and bone’s best
Get the jump on the rest of the herd bein’ related to the stud bull and head cow of the DNA
No choice that it’s just a matter of natural selection, the strong survive, the weak die today!
There’s just not enough Time on Earth to do everything that a spirit needs to do amidst chaos
Ultimate apex and core of the center of the cosmic egg, abstracted from the dead & gone loss
Mothers of the Earth born to run the show and allow the studs to be led by nose ring bull-sit
No hiding except behind the brain malfunction genes, mothers let the gene splices survive it.
There never was anything wrong with being lost in Paradise’s garden with nobody to screw
Just as you got adjusted to the solo flight, Adam or whomever you decided to leave as legend
Got all depressed and started crying to the creator for company, somebody to love, not a man
So, here we are, fans of the first and the following ones that got a city and country queen tan.
Pretty little queenies comin’ out of the woodwork from the fathers and mothers who conjured
The magic bone matrix that moves to the sway tunes of the country saw on the fiddle endured
Talkin’ country-city girls in green jeans, long sweaters, blouses, long dresses and short skirts
No reason for expectations to be unreasonable but they are, therefore, never expect any flirts.
Tempting your attention to move from yourself to somebody else without any payoff to flow
Downriver attention to absorb whatever bytes of ejaculated DNA survive, as above, so below
Function of the equations of signs and lines drawn on white chalk’s black boards, E’s squared
You’re the Mass and Light needing Beatles and Beatniks to couple, beatin’ your knees in bed.
Eggs split and sometimes they just come on down together, same time, same place, Easter pi
3.14 of the saving creator who made the mess and tried to clean it up, failure is all we’ve got
There was no saving for the entire creation, preaching to ones who believe there’s no reason
To be or not to be, more or less half of the world’s multi-lingual bone bags, a century begone!
Hillbillies ain’t as silly as first thought, they have an ear to the ground, it’s quakin’ & shakin’
No accent when you hear the word made flesh has returned for the Rapture, the rupture Sin
Immortal rocks that roll around in circles as the broken bits of the super nova futuristic past
South of Queens or in Nero’s fallen nation y’all be honkytonk rockin’ a huge Trumpian blast.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. March 31st, 2020 A.D. @ 9:11 AM PST
{ Drilled this out of the lead & turned it into shiny gold while listenin’ to @BlakeShelton & Trace.adkins #HillbillyBone in a loop link on youTube @ https://youtu.be/OGoiiwxTWeE }
FINIS
W.W.A.R.D.?
