Pissing up the walls of dollar hell

She's spitting out some screwed-up villanelle

to every Johnny looking for their luck,

she’s pissing up the walls of dollar hell.

And ninety cents an hour don’t cast no spell,

that hot steel peels her cranium unstuck

through spitting out some screwed-up villanelle.

All dried-up bitches with no soul to sell,

them lame floor ladies, they don’t give a fuck–

done pissing up the walls of dollar hell.

Forget it sister, there’s no kiss and tell,

no Catholic girls, no fine young cock to suck,

just spitting out some screwed-up villanelle.

Those stallions won’t drink from this poisoned well,

and Sally’s mustang’s too damn tired to buck–

gone pissing up the walls of dollar hell.

Still waiting for that final graveyard bell,

a New York ticket flowering in the muck.

She's spitting out some screwed-up villanelle,

she’s pissing up the walls of dollar hell.

Russell J Turner – October 2012