I’m going to kick up my heels and smoke a big cigar,
drive a car with more leather then an overweight cow,
wear suits made by people with last names I can’t spell,
carry a large, black gun that doubles as my penis in times of need;
walk around untouched by the law, with everyone riding in my pocket.
I’m going to get ratted on by someone I know far too well,
testified against by the mother of my second illegitimate child,
thrown in a jail where none of the last names end in vowels,
crack rocks with a hammer I wish could double as my penis,
walk around getting touched by everyone, Lucky Strikes in my pocket.
I’m going to get gang raped by a bunch of my friends,
take showers with large men who treat me like dirt,
raise my voice two octaves and cut my clothes in suggestive places,
trade a little bit of my leftover dignity for a pack of stale Camels.
walk around, hands in my pockets, doing the 25 to life of a made man.
