Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Were the Dead to
stoop to the level of Frankie ,
the 60's would never
have happened:
Mickey Cohen and
Lucky Luciano ( if not Caponay hisself) ,
and the rest
of Frank's pals were
not models of progressive
thinking; if I remember correctly Sinatra,
major ho-monger as well,
supported 'Nam and ended up
as a pal of Dutch Reagun--
Frankie hated the hippies;
he said it lots: he was vegas
all the way baby, and
even if he had
cool charts
(Nelson Riddle
did all the dirty work)
he was more Mussolini
than mellow

A plastic tree,
for thee and me,
need a match sir?,
miss?.
look at the love,
glowing on those old lights,
candy cane sticky spots
joy paste,
was she really ever that little?
taller than me now
taller than me.....

"show me the way to the next little girl
oh, don't ask why
oh, don't ask why."

aw cassius arrives
time to scoot before
I puke

No but she is her mother deep down inside
and on the outside as well
and all around and down to the ground

I always loved Brecht.
Simple yet intriguing lyrical swells
But if he touched my little girl
I'd kick his ass straight to hell.

if you can't hang with the big dogs
stay on the porch

the texass terrier
flicks a mean banjo
n can drop a quote
like bone:
but such
rustic
Stravogins
a dime
a moan

Et tu?

bootstrappin santa,
jolly's mist.....
over the river of
tears and years,
jingle jangle my ears,
wigglin gigglin tator gator,
splish, splash,
many a teardrop
has to fall,
and I don't mind

I'm moving to the piano now
to play Bo Jangles

first time I heard it
was on the backsteps of the Rubayat Club in Dallas
scraggly cowboy with a bottle of MD20/20
broke open his guitar case
and sang me his new song

It was Jerry Jeff Walker in blue jeans
we were both down and out

I'll never forget the way he did that song

Tex can scribble, a bit
if his bong is
stocked and lit--
put him n his
gal on some 'zine,
i'll wager they
could out-do Celine

don't forget
broadway brenda,
and her
derelict court,
her teeth were "green,
as green,
as garden peas",
strum strum strum,
fiddle fiddle
dee dee

Brenda
nee Broadway
had a way
with her words;
she often mistook
them for
japanese swords

mañana mañana mañana
creeps in dis pace
from day to day
and all our
blunderlays
smite pools the rays
to musty breath!