We Met At A Fair

We Met At A Fair
I met her at a fair of prison -made weapons
I saw her golden hair
Reflected in some brass knuckles
She picked up a shiv
And made me want to live
Spitting on the floor with me
sipping on an L&P

We had our first date
At the morticians ball
She was kinda late
But I was later than them all
later than them all

Next thing I recall
We were at the laundry mat
Half dead from too much sex
And mingling our smalls

On our second tryst
We had a game of whist
Why put up with empty skies
She said we can improvise
Laying down her cardigan
Screwing in the yard again

We met at a fair
Over a display
Of prison made weapons

Naku noa na

Otis Mace, Guitar Ace


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