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Sam with the showing scalp flat top
Particular about the point it made.
(I got it . . . )
Why, when I was knee-high to a grasshopper
This black juice came out on a hard shelled chin.
And they called that 'tobacco juice'.
I used to fiddle with my back feet music for a black onyx.
My entire room absorbed every echo.
The music was . . . thud like.
The music was . . . thud like.
I usually played such things as rough-neck and thug.
Opaque melodies that would bug most people.
Music from the other side of the fence.
A black swan figurine lay on all color lily pads.
On a little conglomeration table of pressed black felt.
With same color shadows, in seamed knobbed knees, and what-nots.
The long hallway rolled out into oddball odd.
Beside the fly-pecked black doorway
That looked closed on the tar-lattice street.
Up a wrought iron fire escape.
Rolled out a tiny wooden platform with dark, hard, dark rubber wheels.
Roll, skreek! Roll, skreek! Roll, skreek!
Sam with the showing scalp flat top
Particular about the point it made.

Sam was a BASKET CASE!
A hardened dark ivory clip held . . . saleable everyday pencils.
I wish I had a pair 'o bongos!
Bongo Fury!
Bongo Fury!
Oowwwww! Bongo Fury!
(Boogie!)
Bongo Fury!
Bongo Fury . . .
Bongo Fury