Left (At That)

 


Punch out a pop'eyed po'um for the greater world of words
                               to be
        re-warded wit.   We know it'll do lottsa "good"",
                      (won't'it?)

Slap me face on the darkside of the Moon, just forsake of
                               re-verbiation(s).

Kick me in the grid of groin. There ain't any thing that "works"
                            in there
                                   any-way.

Me guts been on th'floor for lottsa time it seems, so just re-member
             them olde days
                                         of blowin' the hashpipe in yr teeny room
                       50'some yrs ago, & we'll
                                                       leave it at that.

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