They called her all sorts of names,
most ofthem rhymed with 'witch'.
You called down the monsters from the skys,
walking down the middle of the road.

You swore that buses were Chariots of God,
and hookers Demons of the Flames.
But what really got me about you,
was that dead daisy sticking out of your hat.

It was a 10 gallon Stetson that've seen years,
in a God-awful peach color, green sash.
For some reason, you stuck a daisy in it,
making it look more rediculious.

You shouted for glasses of water,
while chain-smoking three brands.
Scabs and sores dotted your face,
under the shadow of that hat.

You once chased a junk yard dog 3 blocks,
for looking at you the wrong way.
You jumped over 13 different gang members,
and claimed it was a personal record.

Dressed in an evening gown,
that probably came from Beruit.
You pointed and jeered all the strippers,
and threw rocks at local crack dealers.

Why no one ever shot you,
I still don't have a clue.
You luck ran out one day,
a Chariot of God had run you over.

12/26/2003

Posted on 12/27/2003
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