Rock Poetry

Not a bed of roses 

I pack my rags, just one bag and run.
Where to go I just do not know,
but somewhere far from here.

I killed this chick, she had it coming,
and now I have to keep on running,
the fuzz is close behind.

She was a star I letched for from afar,
but when I grooved, it was she who moved.
She dug my sex man, like crazy.

Always broke I often lent my mind to coke.
Spaced out this screw was something knew.
This chick was something else.

Until she cocked her little finger,
and went and laid this lesbian singer,
I couldn't take it man.

Freaked out and high I could touch the sky,
but grabbed my forty-five. It came alive.
This was going to be some trip.

She opened the door expecting some more,
and took the load in her chest,
she went down on me, man did I give it to her.

When I finally got myself together
I realised I'd probably love this chick forever
That's life man!

July 1977
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