The Pink Lady Bar and Grill

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    The Pink Lady Bar and Grill

    A sax fries golden chicken and
    Drums are baking hot homemade rolls.
    Butter sizzlin-butter sizzlin-butter sizzlin.
    The keyboards uncovers rice and blackeyed peas.
    The rhythm guitar cooks and chops, cooks and chops
    A mess of collard greens.
    Now the lead ax sweetens a pitcher of tea,
    While the bass made us bow for grace

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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    anthonyjames’s Poems (6)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
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    The Pink Lady Bar and Grill 0