(verse 1)
I have really long hair,
don't understand why people stare.
I'm looked down upon by society,
they try to destroy my dignity.
The people call me lazy and low class,
'cause my mop is almost to my ass.
They call me a hippy refugee,
and try to discredit my capability.
(chorus)
I drive a beat-up old car.
I'm your back road man!
I live at the local bar.
I'm the back road man!
(verse 2)
My vehicle didn't pass emissions,
now I can't get tabs.
My car no longer has insurance,
now I'm chasing taxi cabs.
So, I borrowed plates from a regal,
that belonged to my ex-honey.
Now my mopar looks street legal,
what a way to save money.
(chorus)
I smoke hand rolled cigars.
I'm your back road man!
I drink beer from jars.
I'm the back road man.
Lyricists Inc.
D.A.P. / Digital Analog Productions.
Written: 1-27-1995 David A.Porter
©? 01-24-2023
the persnickety, snooty, snotty cat queen put on airs
as if there were not a ridiculous succulent on her head
I watched her climb those red-carpeted prissy throne stairs
and thought she must be low class, common, and pretty lowbred.
She is a low life skank
Trailer trash honey
Dressing all up
And taking your money
But I would trip her if I saw her
And spill my coffee on her dress
And make her into disheveled mess
And yes darlin,
She done you wrong,
So I wrote this song....
Your wife should not napalm your life
To sleep with all your friends
That was no way to make amends
It makes her just a hussy
And a low class ****
And there is no makeup or outfit That can dress that up
You can’t pull that kind of high jinx
And expect any man,
to ever fall for you again
So she will be alone, just wait and see
And we can sing about it and someday laugh you will see
Love you Cowboy Poet, this was not your fault . (C) Artimus Susan Manley 10:55 AM 10/30/23
Victim or Victor
Written: by Miracle Man
4/2/2023
Victim or Victor, to your thinking you’re bound,
perhaps heart has no space for feeling gratitude.
Are thoughts “Woe is Me,” which never astound,
while ever searching for some snarky platitude.
Victims, see half empty, when viewing their glass,
instead of seeing a glass that’s always half full.
Half empty tells others we’re thinking low class,
but a victor always strives to see his glass brimful.
Sometimes we just need to pray,
God please GENTLY adjust our attitudes.
Tom
A mode of transportation
By which low class pair
Does feel so raised in status
Reserved to deem it
For queeny Love, fit!
Waist coated, by one handled
Grandly debonair.
Open carriaged, a route a-float!
As smooth, sweet praise-strewed
Lily-avenued!
Melbourne
Stale milk sky,
traffic is trawling for any surfacing light.
Rubber squeaks on the smeared blacktops.
No hills to climb in this part of town
we are flat earth
and mostly just tilted into our daydreams.
Corner shops are damp and derelict
or heaving with low class crime.
Shadows pounce if you drop a dime.
Its a crawl through a gauntlet
no one runs here unless they flee.
The car radio is set to Fox News
we haven't seen a fox hereabout in years
only concrete cemeteries,
islands of amnesia
sprinkled with stone angels,
hidey-holes
where daytime hookers gather
to pray for better weather.
A rundown duplex in an old inner city place
The walls smeared with dog in an outright disgrace
It smelt of no hope and no future for her anyone more
The neighbours complained of loud music and bad language behind her door
We were called one evening and she answered to us
Bleary eyes and drunk she wondered at the fuss
The scars on her face a sad story told
Of a car crash that maimed her in drink and speed story so old
Photos showed there was a time when she was a good looker
Gone now forever living life as a low class hooker
When she spoke it was slurry and blubbery
Wanting something she couldn’t have in a horror story
We turned the music down and said it had to stop
In a useless charade they was all that we got
So we left to go back to the world
She remained there a lost soul with little left to be held
And alone she lived on in this downtrodden place
In filth as a struggle with no time or grace
I wrote on the log in upper case
Music turned down AQOL NFPA in the appropriate place
Once and a while we had to go back again
For a similar job and a result that would never an end.
© Paul Warren Poetry
101 is a police code for a disturbance.
If I lived in Alabama
I would so much disapprove
Of the attitude towards women
That I’d simply have to move.
There’s a revolution coming
And, despite those southern charms,
Many Alabama females
Should right now be up in arms.
For to challenge a decision
That’s been law for many years
Proves that women’s low-class status
In that state still perseveres.
I’ll not visit Alabama;
I don’t know why someone would
But I hope there will be protests
And perhaps they’ll do some good.
Alas, the world has changed
As the humans take control.
They, for their own likes and dislikes,
Have defined you, just as they please.
And now, you witness the creation of great walls…
Separating mankind.
By the comparison… of colour, of language, of the way of life.
The beautiful, the clean, the classy, the rich…
High class, low class, third class, middle class…
Splitting the world: once split by geographical circumstances.
But remember, your definition lies within you:
In your honesty, purity, tenderness and virtue.
They are to be measured, evaluated, and to be improved…
So to win the heart of man as a rightful citizen.
Remember; do not define yourself by those futile factors –
For with them, only the stupidity of mankind shall rise.
12/20/2018
What rhymes with the word “word”
Yup you guessed it, the word is turd
Kinda low class
Like whatta huge ass
Good for haulin' huge loads I've heard
What rhymes with the word “word”
Yup you guessed it, the word is turd
Kinda low class
Like whatta huge ass
Good for haulin' huge loads I've heard
(none fiction)
A lost soul that just won't quit.
He's been a problem to me since childhood.
At age 12 his started his abuse on my very soul.
At age 16 I figured, it wasn't me that got pregnant back off.
The lost soul that just won't quit still trying to make a
reason for himself for his abuse.
But never the less, his reasons are turning out to be a act
Of a devilish men who just won't quit.
Now he's being like a homewecker with his Malpractioners
For his miserable with himself and can't stand to see me happy.
A mirror of his image I will never be,
for unlike him I'm a provider to my child even if I do not have much.
He took from me and try to steal from me to give to others
Everything I worked hard and accomplish.
in order to feel good about himself but it's only leading him to shame.
His filthy partners who are as much a disgrace doing.
His dirty deeds like a low class peasant with no conscious.
I feel sorry for they soul for I never knew people could be that low.
and I thank God he's aging and his Malpractioners buries with him.
So soon me and my son can have our happy life back.
What rhymes with the word “word”
Yup you guessed it, the word is turd
Kinda low class
Like whatta huge ass
Good for haulin' huge loads I've heard
She smoked my last cigarette and I felt cheated.
I slept with her best friend; again and again, I repeated.
They mocked him as he came passing by.
We laughed, I and them, for not any reason for why.
Smoke rolled out from the car window.
Lids captured tainted pictures turned distorted memories.
Just another low class petty thing—
Put two and two together and the high class manifests.
As for today, he people watches other people watchers;
looking for something . . .
4/11/2017
Learn
From life and everything
After a few drinks
Her turbulent past shows
Her low class upringing
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