Cranky old, grouchy old guys in undershirts,

hang out windows of shiny trucks,

hairy arms plopped out of windows

as they speed in and out of traffic;


retirees on the dole

griping at post offices across America,

dumping ashes on parking lot asphalt,

flicking fast food wrappers into the air


They squeal their tires on curves

through national forests,

cheat regularly on income tax,

shoplift when they can,

haven’t voted in years,

take all they can from Uncle Sam,

from their neighbors,

two helpings on Thanksgiving at the community center,

brag they were in the infantry

but don’t know a mortar from an M-l,

hang flags on their RV’s every Fourth,

blow by mountain bikers on the highway,

piss and moan about the youth of today


These cantankerous old geezers gun

gas farting engines past anyone in their way

with the entitlement of a Raj


Once a punk, always a punk


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