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grandma drinking scotch and soda
grandpa drinking whisky on the rocks
every weekend was a wangdangdoodle
in the living room me in the middle
dancing up a storm to the tunes
came up on somthing called the blues
it taught me how to crie out the truth about how chit feels
the blues is the reason I write
the spirit in the dark made me see the light
standing at the crossraod one night
right or wrong the blues is alright wit me
every Poet can sing the blues
every Poet is a great ball of fire
every Poet is a raging storm
every Poet is a force to be reckoned with
every Poet makes water spit tears
every Poet can break throgh stone with a pen
every Poet got that mind stuff deep witin
every Poet got them got damn blues
