Worm-eaten curled, really rotten—
nice repair job need be gotten.
With moldy leaves they’re filled, ugly and sodden;
they’re sagging, looking more like they have been downtrodden.
Rain runs in there like a river. . .home care forgotten.

So don’t tell me
over and over and over again, my friend,
there’s no need to grieve.
Believe: these eaves face destruction!

Don’t you understand that they’re crumbling away
’cause for years maintenance you didn’t pay?
I’m trying to push you to do something today
if your house you will save and not live in a cave.
Some money you must deploy
if your house to enjoy.

So don’t tell me
over and over and over again, my friend,
that you don’t believe
that it’s the eaves face destruction!

That house hood’s so bad that it’s disintegratin’;
you sit around inebriatin’.
There’s a twisted roof that needs reintegration—
handful of Benjamins* saves the situation.
So start for this home permit application,
go down to the bank and cry, supplicatin’. . .
hope for a loan where there’s crime syndicatin’.

But don’t tell them,
though you should, to “go fuck yourself and get bent,”
so with dough you’ll leave
or else the eaves face destruction.

Think of neighbors’ homes: look like a grand manor—
yours looks just like a shack in backwoods Alabama.

----------------------------------------

Can’t believe beer is what you did waste
that loan on—yourself you now have disgraced.
The rounds then start to come. . .your goals so misplaced.
Hey, that next pour’s savor, I believe I’ll have a taste!

Then we belt beer over and over and over and over again—we’re drenched
and don’t believe
we care if eaves face destruction.

And no, we ain’t gonna grieve
if the bank’s peeved—
in fact, fuck ’em!


*hundred-dollar bills