Monday, December 08, 2014

Elvis poem #135

“When he shook it and he rang like silver
He shook it and he shine like gold
He shook it and he beat that steam drill, baby
Well bless my soul, well bless my soul”-Gillian Welch



They say he stole,
that big ol dumb beautiful hillbilly.

They say he was the brains behind the whole thing.

Him-
In between getting bossed around by the Colonel and his mamma,
pulled off the heist of a century.

He stole the rhythms, the soul and the blues of the music he loved,
He stole from something beautiful that they say didn't belong to him.
He stole lightning, and smuggled it out in his pants.
(Hence all the shaking)

And that's why you should not enjoy his music-
Its counterfeit
Artificial
Full of high cholesterol  and saturated fats.

So cover your ears.
Ask for your money back
Repent

He's a thief.

Somebody call the cops.

Throw him in
the Slammer,
the Poky,
the Hoosgow-
and throw away the key.

 (But Fuck it)
You know he’s just gonna Rock out
in that Jail house.

That's what he does.

It’ll be a fucken party.
It'll be you and me and Bugsy and Shifty
and everyone else
"Guilty" of having a guilty pleasure.

We're gonna stick around and get our kicks.

"That's alright now mama, anyway you do."
That is, if that's alright with you?


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