One hundred miles an hour there I bet you thought I gambled Beneath a red moon's stare The hobo crowed and rambled While I painted my nails blue The waitress' eyes sampled My Elvis P. hair combed truer Than a rhyme could ever fake Out the front -- into the neon. And rooms with keys and service Front whores by the bent line Cocaine puffs out of my pockets Like a changed baby's diaper Finding out I'm drunk, by sleeping In the trunk of a Ford Grenada You wanna fuck me for free? Give it to me mister, by the finger. Spaghetti knots, and cars by Paris Hilton, hotels, built in spite of death No water by the bucket, pipe, or... Squared trenches dug by prisoners Hypes, and spooned out dreams Cry me a river now baby; for last call - - is upon us, but wait... What's this? There is no such thing as that, here. And as my wallet empties to Satanic - - Over-tones of ding-a-ling-a-ling, beep - beep-chinkle-chimes, and old ladies winking at me with tupperware full of - - dimes I tone it all down and order a - - shrimp cocktail by the volcano; Then, I hit the pirate show. Secretly wishing one of those cannonballs would miss its target, and take my head off. Buy my book, and I'll cook you a homellete. http://shops.owlpages.net/us/amazon-mode-books-search_type-AuthorSearch- input_string-Handrinos-locale-us.html It's called Juno's Peacock, and it's hung like a clipped fender.