deepundergroundpoetry.com
Back to The Back of the Bus
Move me back to the back of the bus
where the cool kids be
no muss no fuss, just booze and weed
and firecrackers
aimed at tires and seats of open jeeps
move me please
too much heat on the front where a rear view sees
and I am doomed to please
by having all my human cease
let me be as scum and sleaze
cough and wheeze
in the back of the back of the back of the bus
rum and heathens
run your thumb above where drunk chum is sleeping
to find gum underneath bums
bumping to beats, where we make
fun of weak, scatter neat
The back a splatter of bleak sin
Pitter patter of feet being born to a teen
in the back of the back of the bus
where we mourn deceased
and have no hope for our futures,
no more than end all war
as we hope for some peace
where we
implore for the seasons to change
for a change of hands on weathered reigns
bored by the bland
Stan for any woman or man who sang
about cars and things
being lame and degrading cuz they were
made by companies, shady
jealousy in spades,
we couldn’t afford those things
cigars and rings
so we clung to words and black shirts
and atom bombs made of cherries
now that i've explained, the
back of the bus was kinda scary
take me home
where the cool kids be
no muss no fuss, just booze and weed
and firecrackers
aimed at tires and seats of open jeeps
move me please
too much heat on the front where a rear view sees
and I am doomed to please
by having all my human cease
let me be as scum and sleaze
cough and wheeze
in the back of the back of the back of the bus
rum and heathens
run your thumb above where drunk chum is sleeping
to find gum underneath bums
bumping to beats, where we make
fun of weak, scatter neat
The back a splatter of bleak sin
Pitter patter of feet being born to a teen
in the back of the back of the bus
where we mourn deceased
and have no hope for our futures,
no more than end all war
as we hope for some peace
where we
implore for the seasons to change
for a change of hands on weathered reigns
bored by the bland
Stan for any woman or man who sang
about cars and things
being lame and degrading cuz they were
made by companies, shady
jealousy in spades,
we couldn’t afford those things
cigars and rings
so we clung to words and black shirts
and atom bombs made of cherries
now that i've explained, the
back of the bus was kinda scary
take me home
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