On average, CEOs earn 204 times more than what his or her employees earn

All these greedy bitches
Takin’ money from my pockets
All these greedy bitches
With black teeth sunk in my wallet
All these greedy bitches
Makin’ money off the poor
All these greedy bitches
Wantin’ more & more & more
All these greedy bitches
Shittin’ in my yard
All these greedy bitches
Stackin’ all the cards
All these greedy bitches
Shareholder whores
All these greedy bitches
Rules and regs they deplore
All these greedy bitches
Need lynched like Jello said
All these greedy bitches
Firin’ peons in their stead
All these greedy bitches
Hide in their gold penthouses
All these greedy bitches
Closin’ down the old schoolhouses
All these greedy bitches
Pay the law to look aside
All these greedy bitches
Silver coins instead of eyes
All these greedy bitches
Lie and cheat and steal
All these greedy bitches
Offer a devil of a deal
All these greedy bitches
I ain’t got enough space
All these greedy bitches
Hide their skeletal face
All these greedy bitches
Always seem to escape
All these greedy bitches
Clockin’ grip with every rape
All these greedy bitches
Sucka people wanna be ’em
All these greedy bitches
But we never even see ’em
All these greedy bitches
Tradin’ beatin’ hearts for money
All these greedy bitches
I’m too tired to be funny
All these greedy bitches
They ain’t got no answers
All these greedy bitches
Uncontrollable cancers
All these greedy bitches
That’s just how business done
All these greedy bitches
Soon we gonna make you run

On average, CEOs earn 204 times more than what his or her employees earn

A New Farmer’s Almanac

Not much flax is grown
     in the Ozarks nowadays
though Good Friday returns
     year after year.
So they sow their oats
     in the moonlight
while their hair runs
     like a bobcat after deer.

They plant their sweet corn
     on the first grey morning
that they hear the echoes
     of the white doves’ coo.
And on the bright and blind days
     never will they make
a plain and simple plan
     to see a murder through.

They bury all their old boots
     underneath the fresh peach trees;
right beside the root knot,
     the more decayed, the better.
They gather up lost souls
     after the winds twist by,
and they mow down itchy weeds
     with sharp and biting letters.

They drive an iron nail
     through their left foot
should they stumble
     in a ‘tater patch.
They look for new loves
     under felled cedars
hoping for
     young hearts to catch.

A New Farmer’s Almanac

Listen of the Week: Warpaint

Heads Up, by Warpaint

In the main, though, beats are secondary to impressionistic delicacy: lyrics drift past teasingly, like semi-formed thoughts (“Don’t wanna defend myself,” singer Theresa Wayman seems to murmur on Don’t Wanna; defend herself from what, we never learn), while the overdubbed guitars on Don’t Let Go feel like layers of gauze. Many shades of grey and fragments of sound have gone into Heads Up, which is much greater than the sum of its parts.

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2016/sep/22/warpaint-heads-up-review-album

Listen of the Week: Warpaint

Friday Lyrics Mash: Shut Up and Dance On the Ceiling With Me

she said, ooh-ooh-hoo
she said, shut up and dance with me
i realize this is my last chance
to climb the walls
somebody turn on the light
when we’re dancing on the ceiling
this woman is my destiny
everybody clap your hands, come on
we’re gonna have a party
ooh, it looks like everybody
we took the floor and she said
she took my arm
oh, don’t you dare look back
just keep your eyes on me
she said, shut up and dance with me
i said, you’re holding back
she said, shut up and dance with me
she said, ooh-ooh-hoo
ooh-ooh-hoo, shut up and dance with me
so come on, let’s get loose
i said, you’re holding back

Friday Lyrics Mash: Shut Up and Dance On the Ceiling With Me

Winter is Coming

on a dark winter’s eve,
whiskey infused,
just after solstice,
no candles anywhere,
i fucked a snowman;
no judgment
no fear

no yule logs
no rules
sweet nothings
and hot breaths
tiny, brief clouds
between us

his long carrot nose
tickled and teased
and
i seem to recall
a
corn
cob
pipe

all plans for the future
melted under grey dawn
when i woke to black eyeballs
staring right through me
and a coal mouth refusing
to remember my name

Winter is Coming

Crooked Letter, I (For Stef Russell and Thom Fletcher)

I am eating McDonald’s
     on a sandy shore
     of the Mississippi
     and feeling quite American.

There is trash at my feet,
     in my hands,
          in my belly.

And the trash in my heart?

She carries it away, the river,
     down to the Gulf, to poison
     a pod of pelicans or entrap
     a curious sea turtle.

While I, just a human,
     sit eating McDonald’s
     on the sandy shore
     of the Mississippi.

Crooked Letter, I (For Stef Russell and Thom Fletcher)