Up and down

Fill up the bucket, bro—
we’ve got a fire to start.
Since you were here
G.B. is all I do.

Diageo, Brown Forman?
They’re renting my liver,
crevassed in terms
of Jackie Dan and Johnny Walk Walk.

The flies, they can have it;
they can have the closet.
The doves urged me to ask,
Who cooks for You?

This is actually my own stuff.
I’m smokin—fresh outta the garden.
The .gov? P-shaw.
They’ve got other raids to run.

I’ll put this down on page 61.
We’re all writin books, mon frer,
only some of us
are writin em down.