knucklehead

i'm quite sure
everyone is real sick
of all the bitch slap rappin
the internal combustion motor
that runs on whiskey and intoxicants
no matter how much variety, valium and therapy
still always needs new pistons and rings
 
correct compression is key
yet means nothing without a patina gloss coat
old man winter beards and a bit of a limp  
tell tales
to make a grown man cry
leave you eating  
molten tread
before you hit 40 in the quarter
 
i've learned lately
there is much more to a handshake
than just a greeting or good bye
a bit of eye contact and a firm grip
that says i know the sound of a merciless gavel pounding
as well
no sunshine
23 hours of 8 x 6
razorblades in hard boiled
daily doses of jesus saves
which mean nothing
you earn your ink
 
the desert and thunderheads love you
we know no one else does
long ride  
do right by you
a raise of a glass
an unspoken wish you well
the saddle bag's got  
the get of jail free card
filed down 45
 
see you on the other side
boat drinks
no more window love