The bicentennial dollar man
Struts his way through the junkyard drawgate door.
Pulls out his manskin diamond wallet.
Spends like there aint no life worth livin’ for.
Hairspray clogs the mandroid’s cavities.
Red snakeskin boots intensify the dust.
Procuring mannequins tenfold,
’75 Chevy grinds on through the night
No pleasure here for this rambling bob, this weary blues traveler.
Who plays his flesh to the carnal crowds of women and men alike.
No pleasure here for this money-spender cock-lender devil-pretender.
By the time the leather melts down his crooked spine onto the seat of the Chevy, he will be dead.
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