Titus At the Helm:
The rat-a-tat philosopher
knick-knacks on my paddy
WHACK!- hands meet
at the highest of fives
past two's in the A.M.
When light beer flows
like a dark horse
trotting to the beats
of a heart beaten bass drum.
He's holding the reigns,
while I ride shotgun,
Coasting on the sounds
of his Pentecostal percussion,
preaching through the night,
like a break-dancing Buddha.
He kicks life up a notch
with a southern charm
and a devil's snare,
Opening my eyes to a
rat-a-tat world,
with a tat-a-rat beat.
No comments:
Post a Comment