In real life, I’m a pirate. The progeny of Roberts Black Bart— The gentleman and robber and I can trace that shit back to the big ship for generations and you got to admit it: You can’t negotiate with that kind of status. Fuck with me and I will find your address so you can get a taste of my kind of madness— Learn all about pain I got plenty of practice, ‘cuz Four-score and seven years ago my forefathers got out on parole and went and stole the biggest boat that they could find and headed down to the Gulf of Mexico. Dropped anchor fifty miles from N’awlins. I may be small but I’m like Henry Rollins. I’ll kick your ass while looking like Sophia Loren and push you off the plank if you ain’t walkin’. You just a goddamn bitch: flat ass and no tits with them big hips givin’ that uptown bullshit. That don’t fly below the Mason Dixon Line with the hicks with twelve-inch dicks. I’m sick of this Yankee shit. “I don’t lick slit! Not even of the girls who are raised in the South— the G.R.I.T.S. Quick! Someone call an ambulance! I can’t find my dick!” while my hometown boys could hide behind their shit. ‘Cuz there’s not much to do on a typical day when you live along the coastline down in F-L-A, but smoke and surf and fuck and surf and smoke and fuck and surf and smoke and smoke and smoke. Honestly, I hate these fucking city hos. Bad attitude and a turned up, pointy nose. She’s wearing hose that shows through the little holes of her sandals— Yeah, she got the open-toes. She wearin’ tights, even though it’s not that cold. But who knows? It fucken blows my mind— I’m telling you all the time: The beauty and manners of the South- to Mid-Atlantic. Out in Atlanta where it’s so hot the plants grow five feet taller than what’s considered normal. Go walk the beaches of Sanibel with the shells and the southern belles who in a soft voice will tell you that you’ll go to Hell and then she makes sure as she walks down the shore like Venus DeMilo. You can’t imagine but I know.
Discussion about this post
No posts
Love this, Amelia!!
"Professor, what's another word for pirate treasure?
Well I think it's booty
booty
booty that's what it is"
Sure, that’s a Beasties line, but your rap rolls more like theirs than if you were Luscious Adams.
Plus I was listening to Paul’s Boutique (“the best in men’s clothing”) on Friday — every bit as mindblowing an album as it was 33 years ago — and I can still picture us huddled around a table, smoking and laughing and drinking and philosophizing with this looping in the background, like it was yesterday.