Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Brothel alley hideaway

Ask iAN

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Brothel alley hideaway


Lickin' at mah wounds like a dog licks his little siren in the saigon rain
I am fate's prostitute...lickin' mah wounds as I turn up my collar and puff on
a damp cigarette...hairspray leakin' down into the cuts where my eyes should be
I a world war II mama for her dog bone dead son...

Long, long...long ago, one of  mah great great whale whoppin' great fuckin' grandmas
sexed up with a man servant...I got negra blood pulsin' through my veins...why ya think i dance so good?...why ya think i move like cherry blood?
Why ya think i dream about old purple guitars moanin' up in heaven?
Why da ya think my lips trace you
like a
cut path?

I got indian blood up in these veins too...
always dreamin' about animal faced medicine men barking in sepia
mah tongue has no time for riddles...i leave that to the serpents that gut ya country...

I come here when my mind gets full of trash...
I come right out here in this brothel alleyway...empty my mind in this dumpster drumming rain...
My pompadour unfolds like a flaccid tit from a thrift store bra...spillin' down it's toxic sculpting skim milk...
mah baby Elvis lip unfurls
hiding mah weeping eye teeth
heaven ain't got room enough for me
a dirty angel needs elbow room and a wide berth to kick off it's buckled alligator shoes
room enough for a 3 stringed guitar and a worthless strumming hand...a hand with a
worthless, heavenless diamond band wedding ring, half hangin' on from malnutrition
I could have made a million dollars, instead
i spent it.
tha's right...I spent it
on euro-trash valentines with heart shaped asses
and church girls who slid their palms down the spine of my bending zipper
I spent it
on teddy bears and whiskey
as my friends went wayward like senile falcons
I spent it on the American road at night..
Now I come mah brothel alley a boxcar child on the run...
Another dog in need of a breather...I ain't quite foamin' yet, Mama....
I let the rain wash away my sins and
my misforgivings...cleanse my mutilated mind....and

then it's back to the Pow Wow Lounge and the casino hot dream
back to the watered down drinks, finks and lemon dealing faces that have all fallin' from God's good grace
back to the crucifix in my cigarette pocket that covers my stupid and broken wet dream of a cadillac heart
back on the microphone
where i spit some words of blood into
the beehive
into the ghostmatic smiles
these non Kodak hours
until the neon piss gets too deep again for this crooner....and I have to go
and dump the trash
in mah brothel alley
hideaway.... .*
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