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Just Nick
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Opossum
My little ones crawl up my back.
Stark white teeth,
pink gums,
I ain't no alley cat,
but I'll still eat your trash,
climb highway exits,
eat beer cans for breakfast.
Every can I visit, I've got to admit that I might not make it back.
I ain't playin' around.
The true black is coming.
There's no use in running
from a sixteen wheeler headed southeast out of town.
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And I knew it from the start,
in my little junkie heart,
that I'm better off dead
that a scoundrel in bed around noon.
Pour one out for opossum,
who lay out there, rotten.
Hope they scrape 'er up pretty soon.
Scrape 'er up real' soon
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