A Soul Poem (Untitled)

This is what listening to only soul and funk music for a month does to a person. Enjoy!

Honey, they don't know about you and I
We ain't some jive fighter pilots
Bound by the ways of the pimps who went
To the Underground praying machines
To pick the bones of the saints
From lottery cards and package stores
What a crazy scene

So baby, won'tchu chain away
Your darkest fears
When you're with me they sure as hell don't belong here
I'll massacre the angry folk
Cause try as they might
They ain't puttin' us in a cage

So fuck the trends
And the Nazi pricks
We ain't got time for their wicked game

So let's go back home
To the simpler days
When there wasn't so much pain
And I could keep you out of a chemical haze

I'll work at a hotel
You'll work at a mall
Or you could just stay home
If you couldn't deal with them all
(I'll just have to work more)
But darlin', that's okay