Rouged Bandito
Posted May 20, 2005
Last Updated Jun 21, 2012
Our bodies are definitely outmoded, our sense of style obsolete
Glance around and look past our differences
You’ll notice we’re all incomplete
Relegated to the outer edge, on the fence-line we’re called nervous wrecks
Once brightly polished, shiny and new; ripped inside, our appearance askance
You could say that our value decreases, along with each Friday’s paycheck
Pinkie C. draws in her breath, lets it go in swirls of exhausting smoke
After a couple of hours or so the air finally clears
Jimmy G. spits, coughs and splutters; his stop and go is broke
He’s lost the use of his motor-skills, his life is going nowhere
We cajole and flatter, comfort, console; he’s still quite cavalier
Sets his upper lip in a grimace, stiff as New York plated silverware
Me, my name is Mercury M., much faster than the speed of light
Least-ways I was before being sent to the so-called city junk-yard
Days are spent watching rush-hour traffic; rearview mirror’s a 20/20 hindsight
Boss-man shows his ugly face; I know my fate is signed and sealed
Pinkie C. honks out a warning, “ Corroded battery says you’ll certainly die hard
You’ll never drive back to the valley, to the lonely streets of Bakersfield! ”
Hung mid-air, then freely slung; dropped into the crusher, fifty feet below
Disemboweled, I crack and crunch, whine and wheeze, groan and moan
Melted down to liquid metal, I feel the whole of me begin to flow
Into a different kind of shiny mold; renegade-red Super Stock Dodge
Granny only takes me out at night, she’s a helmeted commando
Daylight hours I’m camouflaged inside her geriatric green garage
She’s the Queen of Colorado Drag; no car faster, no car meaner
I’m called Midnight Colorado, the Brightly Rouged Bandito
Proudly owned by the Little Old Lady from Pasadena
Glance around and look past our differences
You’ll notice we’re all incomplete
Relegated to the outer edge, on the fence-line we’re called nervous wrecks
Once brightly polished, shiny and new; ripped inside, our appearance askance
You could say that our value decreases, along with each Friday’s paycheck
Pinkie C. draws in her breath, lets it go in swirls of exhausting smoke
After a couple of hours or so the air finally clears
Jimmy G. spits, coughs and splutters; his stop and go is broke
He’s lost the use of his motor-skills, his life is going nowhere
We cajole and flatter, comfort, console; he’s still quite cavalier
Sets his upper lip in a grimace, stiff as New York plated silverware
Me, my name is Mercury M., much faster than the speed of light
Least-ways I was before being sent to the so-called city junk-yard
Days are spent watching rush-hour traffic; rearview mirror’s a 20/20 hindsight
Boss-man shows his ugly face; I know my fate is signed and sealed
Pinkie C. honks out a warning, “ Corroded battery says you’ll certainly die hard
You’ll never drive back to the valley, to the lonely streets of Bakersfield! ”
Hung mid-air, then freely slung; dropped into the crusher, fifty feet below
Disemboweled, I crack and crunch, whine and wheeze, groan and moan
Melted down to liquid metal, I feel the whole of me begin to flow
Into a different kind of shiny mold; renegade-red Super Stock Dodge
Granny only takes me out at night, she’s a helmeted commando
Daylight hours I’m camouflaged inside her geriatric green garage
She’s the Queen of Colorado Drag; no car faster, no car meaner
I’m called Midnight Colorado, the Brightly Rouged Bandito
Proudly owned by the Little Old Lady from Pasadena
- Related Topics
