(or Jumpsuits & Dancin’ Boots)
I know Ron Weasley made due With whatever robes the other hands Handed him down, inhabited them right along with Scabbers as well He not only wore ‘em he owned them robes His kid sister followed suit next year And how
It ain’t easy Shoppin’ for your first wardful of Stripper Clothes, uniform enough To last a whole gig through
This has all the long, classic looks
Fraying lasso-hair stitches & pearl snaps
—perhaps not entirely indicative of the
blood dust & saddle worn ilk broken
into the spunwoven cotton of The True
West's plaid, I mean this shirt, tho purdy,
ain’t never seen a tumbleweed a'tumblin'—
Of a lean, scruffy male stripper in a cowboy shirt
Old blue jeans, if any, tucked into
The boots
The boots. It’s all about the boots These boots and those and the thriftstore shirt Hung on a wire & madeshift pipe from the old windmill well Once a cowboy’s closet’s best Saturday night Going out dancin’ type and now This
May not be the git’up a real Hand would wear down the droven Trail but it sure beats A jumpsuit for dancin’
Is also tax deductible as professional Attire for any locksmith lookin’ To pick up some loose lockets Knockin’ about clockin’ weekend overtime At the Teacher’s Convention
It ain’t easy You said and I believe you To do what you have to do In order to be a poet Sacrifice the space for a big closet You said, and keep track of wages & tips
And spend the latter, you said On knockin’ down walls And linin’ your dancefloor with boots