joseph brooke


Stevie Ray Vaughn knows, what you ask, that women are fucking troubled twists and just no damn good. Flap those bat wing lids, Lo La, Lo Lo Lo La La Lo La, right man, I promise my dick wont flop, sit right here on my lap my love, like a whirling dervish candy cane spinning top. Lie to me, promise me, beg me, fuck you I am not buying that game no more. Why, because I want to wake up in the morning and find I still got a set of balls between my weak fuck legs. Retract that statement. I just seen your eyes, connected to your demonic angel face, and I'm a fucking gonner. I will die for you, live for you, chew my arm off for you, just to touch those god Damn lips, with my lips. Whiskey bottle, ashtrays dying with dead butts, line a drugs, green smoke, late nights, ten in the clip hand gun, cribs set on fire, a Kansas Wheat fire of hell. Loaded blues, sick and elated, delirium tremors, vomiting on the curb, why baby do you rock my fucking world. Shake that ass, hook up, roller derby in those three inch heels, rove and dance and twirl around this garbage dump I call home. Roam, rake it in, your a damaged slut, a ruthless rock starved I-Pod-Player kid. Raised on acid rock and MTV, sucking off the football team, and now your zeroed in on me. So you want to be a rock and roll star, and a sweet mademoiselle, why hit me up? I'm a last ditch artist running with the shit of the earth. I saw you in that micro skirt, day glow green tank top, drooping eyes, bee hive, heels, cheap shoes, all the sex bells and whistles, a tight bod that can rock the Wurlitzer earth.

Okay, lets go there, feeling kind a good tonight. Right buzz, right choice, right drugs, cool high, lets die. Lets get down, maybe hip hop dance, hop all around, oooh baby, stoned, rule, so cool. Maybe we can score a gram of heroin, boil it up, bubbles on a silver spoon, white powder percolating in the last ditch moments before we nod out, right after we forget to fuck.

Is that what you want? Is that what you need? Is my blood, soul, brain and heart enough to satiate your ego driven self absorbed needs? Hop hip-hippity hop over here, set that small ass right down here. 62 Buick gassed, top down, engine tuned, lets take a little drive down highway 40, see whats at the end of that golden pot of a gold cunt you have attached between those sweating, long legs. We'll find Vegas, gamble, get stoned, get high, I got the suite, I got all the drugs and paraphernalia we will ever need, right there, in the trunk. Summer night, I cant take my eyes off of your flaxen hair, billowing out past the Buick's retro tail fins. Here, take a toke of this, sip here sweet doll, at the J Walker Black, with those go go girl lips. That should tide us over until we hit Sin City, get down, get crazy, wild, hit on the strippers, party like it's 1974, go all in, and then, begin the madness spiral downhill into sex, and finally get into the important drugs.

There they are, see that neon, those glimmering lights, on the tip of the world, shes waiting for us baby, Vegas. Man are we going to tear it up, probably barely get out alive, have some fun, and in the end if our bodies and brains fry, at least we went out like bizzarro savages just before we die. Banshee shrieks, wails, fucking each other until our eyes bleed, burning alive in one anothers arms, sweat, saliva, semen and your hair drenched like rusted chains, falling down that face, ring a ding, ring a ding ling, do ya hear the bell, round one doll in screams of flaming flames, bodies burning, getting ready for our retro rocket entry into the depths of hell.

Cool Huh, you ready sweetie pie, I know I am, lets roll my baby doll?