and then there was the time in Pawtucket
a blue collar got honest dirt dug in
N the grime under fingernails is genuine
N the sweat don�t stay in place like it should
In polite society �
But polite never rocked the scales of justice
When honesty is in the house
So what do you smell like?
Kinda some proper antiperspirant
Or maybe like the inside of
Something not meant for human hands
But they the only tools
That get the job done
When unfunctional
Need to get unfunked
Don�t hand me a sheet
Of pristine calligraphy
Dusted after the ink
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To make sure they ain�t no smears.
Put that stuff on the table
With the bills and junk mail.
But maybe you got a piece
Of spiral-bound wadded in your pocket
Coz it wuz so secret your mind
Wasn�t quite ready to let loose
Of what fell outta your heartburn.
The creases are perforated N
Maybe it even been washed
A time or two.
Gimme that.
Coz that�s the authentic on lock.
Give it up.
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