Lumber Up. Limbo Down

I can’t sing and they can’t play. At first I’m going to wear a dinner jacket in front of a buncha hippies and an electrician’s helper. My girlfriends are stewardesses on the handbasket to hell. Then I’ll try an unexplained eyepatch and some sort of uniform like I’m a Field Marshal in the Weirdmacht. We’re annexing Bolivia, though.

I’m drunk on Rimbaud while I read the gin bottle. I invented girls wearing their underwear on the outside of their clothes. I think they’re girls. I’d have to go to church every day for a century to work my way back to being as wholesome as a vampire. I perform live with dead eyes. I’m from the bad neighborhood on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. We’re the default wedding band for marriages of convenience.

Wanna dance?

It’s June. That’s Practically Summer. Of Course You Know This Means War!

Put the top down. Tube top, I mean.