Jimmied In The Afternoon

I don’t wait until the sun goes down. She’s a timid girl.

If the world’s my oyster, baby, this place is my pearl.

She’s a real hot dam, she’s a tight-lipped clam, and I’m a knife.

Nobody can husk like me. Been shucking shells for years.

The juice is aphrodisiac like Aphrodite’s tears.

Jean-Luc Picard’s Locutus and everybody’s hailing Brutus now.

I’ll kill a Caesar before the clock strikes noon.

Chase it with twelve pints of Guinness and a baby blue new Toronto tune.

I got a shine, and while you wait to toast the moon, I’m getting jimmied in the afternoon.

I drink to Hemingway anyway he would,

Hank Chinaski, Dylan Thomas, George Thorogood,

Carson McCullers, all the others...

Mr. Buffet’s got a point but it’s not sharp enough.

It’s just some longitudinal seaman’s salty stuff.

Follow me. Don’t be a lemming. Should we thank Sir Sanford Fleming?

I don’t care for the little hand or the big one on the wall.

Give me some full-bodied legs and make them long and tall.

Somebody’s shot the piper. I’d even shoot de Kuyper.