Ball on a Chain


I'm like a ball on a chain
another lyric, faded parched
from a dried pen--
Dylan's on the back of a magazine cover
that called him God for a new generation
Just like one of his characters,
walking down highway 61

An escaped convict, singing the prisoners blues.
the criminal wearing a checkered vest
shaped from his past
a dawg looking for another bone
a fashion hippo from the future
dead set in a new modern eclectic culture
robbed by a chic wearing teeny bopper
who wore skirts for brains.

This is the blue faze
new wave, catchy phrase, wind shaved
window painting, wind-breaker, bible shaking
downtown Tom Thumb, with blues on his mind
with no time to find his girl, Tracy World.

She's the new fashion girl model age
looking for a that new stage
so she can be the rage
lookout kid, there it is, she is the new century-
bottling all that pop and fizz
buy yourself a soda please,
drink it down alka biz
It ain't like nothing you ever seen

Insert harmonica solo here!

Don't mind me I'm feeling shackled
by forgotten words and bonds
tie my down songs with too little rhyme
clearing out jail cells that sailed from boat rails
that were put on sale by sellers
who set down without magic markets
priced their lines on a case by case basis
courtesy of a knot berry seaweed farmer
from a San Francisco County mine.

It's the chain gang mentality
dragging this 900 pound memory
checking facts the Guerilla forgot to mention.
He's the true master of war
but he's got his own ball and chain
to worry about.