Growing Up Poor in Dubai ('Tato Cut)

from by Thompson M.T.

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If those church birds croon in perches
Eyeing your woes,
And harp at you about how no mouse
Gets in that grove,
Remember all of those bitter crows
Are just left over dinosaurs,
And you've got flashy underclothes
And love for days to juxtapose,
So be a mammal and speak in prose,
And love who loves you and decompose,
And take your leisures up your nose,
And dance your bones out, baby, break some toes,
Dress in sequins and flash your quick wit
And smash your glasses across a pulpit
And buy an island for your life to live in
And make damn sure that Yahweh knows you're coming,
Da, da, da, da,

And if your feet keep sore from growing up
Poor in Dubai,
Oh! And those concrete bunkers kept you
Hunkered and dried out,
Well remember all of the oligarchs
Are just decapods dressed up as sharks,
And you've got all of your muscles starched up
And baked in sunlight and hurt and earth stuff,
So heave your worries out of your windows,
And lean your lanterns as the wind blows,
And show 'em slit won't stain your vertebrae,
Vous mangez le gateau et le sourire,
You're the congress on the tennis court
Leant out in your gunpowder reports,
In a new and unbounded ballet,
And it's just you now,
Happy Birthday,
Da, da, da, da.


from LIVE at Spice Radio, released June 9, 2015



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Thompson M.T. Huntsville, Alabama

Glitter and gin stains down the front of a sun dress worn by a man with no ambition, glazed with rain water, beside the white chickens.

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