Funk
Close your eyes.
Find your soul.
Center, spirit, chakra,
it's all good.
Feel it's heartbeat.
Solid, steady pounding.
On the one-
too funkin' cool to wait for the two-four.
Bass crawls up through your feet,
slides up your legs and stops at your hips
pulsing like the sex
you're afraid to admit you want.
Guitar wah-wah's your neck
rocking it wikka-wikka style.
Choir sings- "Swing down, sweet chariot.
Stop - and let me ride." -you'd swear
they're black-skinned angels.
Trumpet, sax, and 'bone
blast it, uh, blast it.
You can't hide from the funk.
It's what resets your internal clock,
beat faithful as a baby sucking tit.
Funk-sway is the procedure by which
you align your body to harness
the awesome power of a fully-operational
Mothership Earth.
Let me ride.
Epilogue:
"Why must I be like that? Why must I chase the cat? Nothin' but the dog in me!
Bow wow
wow!!"