I’ve gotta run to get my suit,
Run to get my pick,
Warm the chops,
(But what if you stop??)
(I’m going to be doing both??)
The acoustic’s fine,
(Can I move my fingers in time??)
The rhythym’s there
(But how stupid is my hair??)
Two acts to go
(But what if I’m a no-show?)
AGH I JUST WANT TO SCREAM
But I don’t.
And I won’t.
Just soothing vocal chords through the beer cellar doors.
It’s a job for a tyke.
(BUT SHIT, THERE’S ONLY ONE MIC.)
“Can I get a hell yeah?” I proclaim,
I need a response to know I’m not a shit stain
I get it again, they give me a chant
And I suppose at this point I really can’t faceplant
So I start Banana Day
(The title sounds like I’m gay)
So I call it untitled two
(I’ve got the heart of a shrew)
But I pluck, and I pluck
(I miss a string, FUCK)
I keep going on and forward
(Shit transition that I go toward)
But I nail it! (Sort of)
The energy comes back.
The multi-rhythmic jam keeps me clear of heart attack.
There’s no need to break out the defibirlator,
(Even though I have the grace public masturbator)
I make it through, get a half-hearted chant
(I won’t go without electric, I honestly can’t)
Maybe a poem would have been better,
But I knew today was yellow weather.
And to my mistakes, I’ll learn to forgive.