Street Preacher Man
Hair got more oil than iraq, don’t come near me with no damn lit match. They said the world is ending but there’s a catch, it ain’t for the street preacher man! Don’t compare me to the man with a megaphone that stands on milk crates, we don’t equate. He stands too close to where I want to stand and I can’t stand any of that. I don’t need that affiliation because it’s hard enough for me to be preaching out on the streets. I’m cultivating an institution but I’m not able to do that with that broken record doing all that hollering like a retarded Big Bopper. I’m preaching just a little bit of optimism to get by, while he’s being a hell hound with the way your being dragged down. A frown can be turned back around in my books but that crate man only believes a frown can come off of it’s face peeled off like a horseshoe. That fella outta be put in a psych ward somewhere in the 9th ward and I bet you his name is ward with the way he belongs in a psych ward. I’m gonna walk him down, I wanna walk the man with an electric megaphone down by the canal and turn him into an electric eel! I want this corner cleaned by tomorrow. I’ll throw in a crate of figs or blueberries and plums for whoever gets the job done. I know my way around, tossed out to the curb is when you finally learn. Hit rock bottom when it was your turn to snap but you still ain’t get your neck snapped. I’m out on the street for a reason, the gambling was toying with me. The jackpot came with potholes down the road and without a curtain call or home cooking pot roast. I still owe so many but they ain’t get a cent nor catch a scent of where I went! You’re as crazy as the megaphone man that sunk in the creek if you suggest that I sell my suits and jewelry. This hard earned luck won’t be put to waste just because I worked the system without getting into politics. I’m flashing without having to be bucket naked; dictionary gone rip out a page trying to make sense of that. Custom everything, the feds don’t even know what to do with these finer things. Can’t look like the regular joe that is letting go of his soul due to his sorrows. I have to look my best so people that can’t trust a fall, can trust me. The only people I now owe is the civil people that are down on their luck and going on to tomorrow. Alive and kicking, we are marching down all the sorrows in this town like there was flood that washed many out. I did all this so you don’t have too, now let’s all get back up on our feet. Let me speak as your conscience in the same civil manner but louder. I’ll come back down to the level of modest living with the civil people if it means that they’ll follow me. Still don’t get it twisted, if the world is actually ending then the salt mine is all mine! If you want a lick, you gone have to kill me for it. Kill me in my sleep and put me out my misery when i’m dreaming is. Let my childhood race car bed be my coffin, the street preacher man deserves an open casket in front of the people who’s lives he flipped.