Saturday, June 4, 2016

I got nuthin’ but a little dash, 
A something from a funky crash
This and that tied up with string, 
Stand up, sit down, shut up kinda thing
Maybe I got something like a hop scotch hip hop
Mashed up mix ups, like the other shoe’s about to drop
Like when the rain's gonna fall
But turns out there aint no rain at all
Like 501s and an old Tshirt
Gotta find those torn up sneakers full of dirt
Hop on my wheels and push those pedals hard
Only to find out I’m back in my own front yard
I gotta Sugar Ray kinda reach
A Muhammad Ali kinda speech
A Chuck Berry kinda ditty
And a Joe Namath kinda pretty
I’m saying microwaved eight tracks
Jumping over sidewalk cracks
Hot dogs and scrambled eggs
Playing mercy until she begs
Spit flying in the air
Piles of this everywhere
Picking out my 45
Dancing just to feel alive
I mean a strawberry stand kinda deal
With a paint splattering kinda wheel
You know, like fists flying in the air
And the head nod like you barely care
I got nothin’ but a little crash
Some kinda slippery little dash