"Chosen as Bowienet Gallery Featured Words/
Poetry of the Week"

Dressed up for the Devil
Night cruisin’ New York bars
Naked women come out dancin’
On hoods of real smart cars
Cash in a buck-hide wallet
Plastic people for a credit card
Boys with lycra pants on
Girls making up so hard

Free ya mind of hang-ups
Take a bitch out for a ride
Cab driver earns his money
On the back seat where you slide
Fill-up with what’s on offer
Don’t tell ya mom or smiling dad
Your hands have all come over
Something dark and very bad

Crashed out back seat driver
Kiss arse with a bottle of Becks
Fifty bucks comes out ya pocket
Nothings free it’s only sex
Take a stranger in the corner
No introduction in ya eyes
Take her through the back door
Paid ya money now here’s your prize

Undressed you are the Devil
Take possession, ride the train
Nothing comes between ya
Stand-up straight you feel so vain
Suburban boy arrived a virgin
Lost his head in a New York bar
Made his peace with a Catholic Priest
Jacked-off in the back of his car

© Russell Phillips 8 April 2001. 
All rights reserved.