Rockabilly Rodent
I ain’t no hillbilly, just lived right outside of a city in the south and was a bit dirty. Only stepped foot into the city for grain, meat, and berries because nothing grew when the grass was blue outside the city. The actual hillbillies are too country for me, they would throw rocks at me like it was for me. They chew more tobacco than I chew seeds, sometimes we both have buck teeth but both my jaws are still strong when it’s time to feed. I was no punk, my left fist swings west in a rhythm like the rest of the westerners but it never twang when they jumped me. Had to move closer to the city cause the whole plateau could hear my blues, the vibration from electricity even drowns the sounds of silence. I ain’t gone say the kind I am, I’m grouped in with the same kind every time. They say I belong in the swamp, I’m three steps away from heaven and i’m not gonna let someone with obvious funk ruin this soul. I don’t got cash but I know where you keep it because I live between your walls. Been being this for so long, feels like I could have existed in the ’50s. When you finally spot me in the goth of night during you’re midnight snack, you go psycho and reach for something metal. Every time, I would boogie-woogie and bop back into my crevasse. They would try again in the morning with all their wills but they would ease their ego by bringing in professional exterminating playboys. When I hear the spray pump swing, I grab my Guitar and go. I’m not ready to go, with a predetermined set of horns and burn where the steel is with my guitar. This ain’t my first world war, my skin under this fur is thicker than a pair of blue suede shoes found in a Priest’s meadow. I’m hard as rock, not walking around with a little peter like I’m Perkins. From Arkansas to Memphis, I rode the train till it kept rolling. I keep warm with a boiling billy when the weather gets chilly in the evening when traveling from city to city, Mama would have thought that I’ve done all right for myself. Craving me a bass, had to slap myself out of it because only a confident cat would day dream. My joints still hurt from those rocks that the crazy rural men threw. I won’t miss that plateau, it ran like a clock-less jungle. Sometimes living between the walls of city folk’s homes, you can hear them cry like three times a day. It’s like they forgot how to forget, I always remember to forget. My Mama got gone three time from mystery trains but the third one was the charm. Heading down to the diner helps, the jukebox keeps playing till I get done nibbling off the cord. When a cat does it, it’s loveable like it’s name is Maybellne but to prison I go. The echoes that arose during my time between these walls, had my brain on tape delay with the way it just slapback behind my skull. Sometimes when birds flutter, I envy them but a bird never made a cattle trip over with a call. I’m always on the run but for some reason, every city has a local honky tonk that don’t eye me. They drop nuts on the like it was for me, I felt like a crazy armed drug addict locked in a drugstore for seven days. As much as they don’t mind me, it feels like the end of them road when I overstay. I get lonesome, it might be the summertime blues but we are nearing spring first. I should connect with friends in West Virginia but I don’t love West Virginia, I prefer to shake in Alabama.