Your Fancy
Your fancy
Come visit me and I’ll tickle your fancy,
Let me mess up your intellect,
When I’m riding like ol Mick Dancey,
Come morning, do I have your respect?
When cornball is up to ya eyebrows,
Morality slip-sliding in sweet decline,
Lie detectors, for all polititians words, though,
Will they be truthful, the gutter slime?
The rich manlipulate the masses,
Brainwash the gullible poor,
Who do you think own the media,
Till you think this way nothing more?
Don Johnson
Copyright © Don Johnson | Year Posted 2012
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