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A Simple Man
His old man called him
a simple feller of simple wantins'
and simple thoughts. A man filled with
bourbon-breath from labor in
them open fields; masked in silver
bristles from
his whinin' little ones. When ya
asked if he liked rock n'roll
he'd nod his head
and then start dancin' to
some groovy jazz by Duke Ellington;
it's funny though, cuz
this guy, this simple man
would keep on noddin'
and keep on dancin' until
his gal came to pick him up.
And when she arrived, all perty and
young-like, he'd take out his kerchief
and start wipin' her brow. But she'd
tell him no, like a ma to her girl.
So he'd leave alone and wander on
home down Carsey Avenue and
over Hunley Boulevard; then he'd stop
before his door. He'd drop his knees
and raise his crumbly hands to
the sun bleached sky,
prayin', prayin',
not to be so simple.
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