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Poem

The bars are all closed and I’ve got a full tank, 
So we could idle all night.
I’ll buy us breakfast at the Swamp Pike Diner. 
We’ll welcome dawn’s early light.
It’s been seven long years since the tire plant closed. 
Right now the job I got sucks.
I only feel alive on Saturday night 
When I can hustle some bucks.
My attitude’s the kind that suits 
These tattooed arms and steel-toed boots.
Yeah, I grew deep blue-collar roots in Spring City.

I scored us some crank from a dude they call Slim. 
He’s on probation; it’s cool.
He was a bouncer down at Banker’s Tavern; 
Busted some guy with a stool.
It's a doggy-dog world and a b*tch of a life. 
Nobody gives you a break.
So I don’t give a f*ck who likes me or not. 
At work, I’m known as The Snake.
My dad’s a drunk; his wife’s a sl*t. 
Did Satan curse this town, or what?
It’s hold yer breath and bust a nut in Spring City.

Check under the seat; I stashed two quarts of Bud, 
A pint of Peppermint Schnapps.
We’ll do a line and then we’ll light up a blunt. 
Just keep an eye out for cops.
Gotta numb down the pain ‘cause this town’s a disease, 
Self-medication’s ok.
Don’t ask the doctor what you already know. 
He won’t have nothin’ to say.
If drugs don’t get ya, gambling will. 
There’s layoffs at the knitting mill.
Sometimes I think I’ve had my fill of Spring City.

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