Of Love For Atlanta

I will set at the piano
and will play a same tune,
but that don't mean I ain't
still pissed, Honey Chile.

You have watermellon'd me
in frunta my friends
for the last damn' time-- so now
I'm gonna play some trash tunes, Hunneh.

Notice our fretless hostess
in all her dynastic splendour
of loose-gowned voluptuity and the
breathless y'awls and cuzzins heah.

And also it don't mean that I have
lost my taste for hoss bean mash
(that only been fermentin' two days)
like some ole piss-po' drunk aristocrat.

Plus I'm fixin' to sang some lullabyes,
dee-posed queen, all of which I'm dedicatin'
to this mob of bar flies and mis-fires
and to my next ex-wife-- Hoo-eee!

Yazzum! I got a couple mo' thangs to say;
first, ah HATE it that she's gone now,
and second, I always wanted a woman like
she always dreamed about becoming.