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Sunday, August 1, 2010

The St. Louis Hat


I chatted with a rapper, he wore a hat that was dapper
Must have had a trick stuck inside,
For as he composed, his head fell and rose,
But his hat would jump as he sighed.

"That's sick - what's in there?", I asked on a dare,
"Is it a trick or a ferret?"
"Either alive or takes orders, from the man at its borders,
  could it be a snake or a parrot?"

He just winked, "Whatever you think,
I'm certainly not telling you!
Write me a script, and make it real hip,
 and I'll think about telling the truth . . "

" I can't rid my soul of this dammed dogger-roll . . .
   I hear it at night in my bed!
   Let me hear prose, or smell a red rose . . . 
   This meter keeps banging me dead."

"We're minstrels with pistols, out writing missals,
  the words inside us are stewing, . . .

 "Perhaps in St. Louis, where the blues sound is truest,
  there I'll give you some clue-in'!"

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