To be that song of punk, rock, and funkalicious hi-fidelity.
A classic song of blue in a white room, a beige song painted black.
To be that perfect exercise song, one that exorcises all boredom off the bone.
Home song, road song.
Drum hunger laying down a steady 4/4 of going all the way song.
Master-blaster boogie searching out houses of the holy.
Mantra song, money song, mony mony song.
Song that knows if it’s ever jailed, all it’s gotta do is offer up a righteous beat for bail.
Song that knows what’s going on, smells like teen spirit when dancing a bohemian rhapsody.
Unlocks chains of self-enslavement. Got a peace sign for a third eye.
Spins like a shiny dime, poppin’ and lockin’ with finely honed rhymes.
To be that song transcending time. To be that song.
RichRant 