scott moore | nobodies don’t sweat the rules

nobodies don’t sweat the rules

no punchin pages with silk mittens
nbd’s don’t give a fuck
even famous doesn’t register
and semis go unseen
longer than a print check
overruns don’t make a solid
when your life’s on 4% margins
preachers silhouetted in their flocks
prayin for another body guard because
there’s slumming outside the windows
ass n elbows don’t bow down
wipe’n spit off chrome shine crowns
every ghetto in the blocks
every borderline struggle
all the ravaged mill towns
where run down shacks stopped caring
the stories and crimes get truer
percocet empires on $3 co-pays
tough times call for adaptation
when foreclosure’s on the way
sackin on lazy boys don’t paint that canvas
cobble streets with famous shops
and trust fund studios… they always
keep their sidewalks cleaner
pretentious and preposterous
the vision can get
when on that higher level
nbd’s will shine your pass
and shut the lights…but
when the repo numbers get called in
you keep one eye open
forget about cities in decline
or yuppie strip mall failures
the wick cards over juiced
and unemployment’s on 95
maybe the shelters full
and the bridge is under construction
even paper signs that plea
don’t cut it in split economies
if nbd’s could make dimes off flowers
or mint julep canopies
they’d shit blue ice cream
then sell it back to royalty
It’s one stomp on or over
the way things look from here
there’s candlelight’s on the horizon
rooms to move in
spiders to kill
cob webs to funeral
club pro’s and tea cup times
are running for the gates
not from a poet
never for a dime
straight up… the way it’s spoken

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.