A little bit of vodka

I swear I didn’t drink much, mother.
It was just a bit of truth,
With a little bit of vodka,
Called “African sabretooth”.
Now you must leave this inequity, ma
You can
For we’re not selling peanuts here,
We’re the diamond thugs!
We’re smugglers of afternoon’s direction
And we’re sleeping under rugs
Where the lopsided tavern awaits us,
And we like to stand when we yell out -
(and we like the old man who pisses with both hands in the air)
And we like a lot of things,
But a lot of things don’t like us,
People of the world should listen,
For I’m Machiavelli himself,
And I’m speaking on the behalf of,
All the coconuts on the shelf,
And “oh”, she said, “you’re such an artist”,
As I slowly slit her neck,
With fifty-two cards up my shameless sleeve,
And the fifty third on the deck,
I swear I didn’t drink much, mother,
It was just a bit of her,
Mixed in some chronic tonic,
And a centrifugal blur.

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.


Shobhna Guerin said...

Only one thought comes to mind... that was really really awesome. Wow. e

surajsharma said...

thank you so much!! :)
it means the world to me.

Post a Comment


This content comes from a hidden element on this page.

The inline option preserves bound JavaScript events and changes, and it puts the content back where it came from when it is closed.

Click me, it will be preserved!