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Friday night,
you're picking that banjo a string at a time.
Please don't let me rush you, Grandpa,
but it's past your bedtime.
Leave some bluegrass there to mow.
Leave some blues for the next show.

Under your skin,
popcorn is popping out of rhythm again.
My eyelids are buzzing and Karen is waiting,
hot-tempered and thin.
Please don't click your dominoes.
Please don't dance on our young toes.

Karen's got springy black hair
and I heard she wears black underwear.

Any old fool can be a preacher,
just put on sunglasses and crawl through the dark.
All you square dancers can't forecast the weather.
I'll just build an ark.

Shit-kicking cowboys look at me raw,
I'm a gold nudie suit.
They drove their pickup trucks over from Wal-Mart
just to piss on their boots.
Keep between the ditches boys.
Keep being part of the big noise.

Soft-armed girl looks like all the others,
you can't tell them apart.
I buy her Bud Light while I drink Dr. Pepper,
it massages my heart.
She's my buffer from the blues.
She's my Buffalo Bayou.

Yelling about some song she heard.
She might as well be making up words.

Under my collar,
scars and a sunburn look something like this.
Here's my Winchester that I've never shot
so that I cannot miss.
My aim's just a little low.
My aim's really just so-so.

Grandpa says, hey,
let's pop up some popcorn, a pot of decaf.
I drank all that coke and got nothing but hiccups,
I can't help but laugh.
Yes, she's too young anyway.
Yes, there's just nothing more to say.


from Your Flaws Aren't Picturesque, released July 17, 2015



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