by Peter Loaf
Blond and full figured, West Texas whore
Went with a redskin, “fifty bucks more”
The motel handy
Sharing nose candy
GHB spiking, the motel floor
Waking up slowly, trunk of a car
Ten hours missing, wonder how far
Hogtied in darkness
In naked distress
The tires singing, sun melted tar
Dutch oven roasting, sweating off pints
Gravel road taken, rising dust paints
A coating of mud
Tears sweat and blood
Passing from knowing, muffled complaints
Waking up hanging, strung between trees
The john reviving, titty slap squeeze
Rim of Grand Canyon
Painted companion
War-paint and feathers, Hollywood sleaze
The miles before me, a giant place
The air is rising, up the cliff face
Little birds flitting
Seems kind of fitting
Savage uncultured, my state of grace
Bucket of sudsy, hard bristle brush
Spread eagle naked, road dust to flush
Tooth brush electric
Uses eclectic
Nipples and clitty, my pride to crush
Blue Angel facing, across the gap
Fellow Caucasians, right in their lap
The redskin dancing
Sometimes romancing
Texas streetwalker, bait in His trap
The forest ranger, lookout tower
His glasses mounted, highest power
The image wavers
The native slavers
The market paying, Texas flower
Sheriffs in Blackhawks, called out to ride
The trap they enter, no place to hide
Missiles heat seeking
Their tracks go streaking
Red hot carnations, lesson applied
Five burning choppers, bottom of ditch
The girl deserted, punished white witch
The high tech answer
Coup counting lancer
Whites spending trillions, but which is which
