A Deadeye Wrangler

Egalitarians of a smaller world with forks for fingers chew loudly on the gravy train of poor boys paper thin paychecks spit me out cause I got no cash better to be on the street with a shoeless shuffle than trying to capture a seat at the silver spoon table.... Pasty-faced bankers counting out loud the graves of American dreams they spoiled the song of their voices in unison is a terrible dirge and a strange romancer that keeps one and all clinging to that sweetest of dreams hope.... Dudley Do Right is a little man in his little office acting like the bureaucrat he was born to be just pennies on the pound for his cold soul a deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang his heart a cardboard cutout of his childhood idol deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang all these flavorless fools pay to play on the great machine where the crowds call for ever more salacious parody of what should be where the almighty buck stops here twice a day all day Sunday preacher man baker, solider, liar, thief deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang © 2018 mark john junor all of my poems are my exclusive property and all rights are reserved