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Elevate the Lap

by The Good Hard

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honk if u want me to bak into u smash this trash n take my bangaroo alwz sumthin, we’ll be missin everywer we turn. knowin wer yr from’s just a fite u can’t see, look wer yr goin is so this century, most ppl luv cuz they fear gettin disinterred. leave ur hands to luv ur hands find yr face up in the stands former/future lives r future forming lies all yr wins r also-rans i can’t recall the make that led me to this crash but if i can free my head i’m swappin that heap for a lack a cash. all summer, girl, we’ll be lost out west, cruisin round in our tortuga nest nothin on but the flag of crepuscula maybe we’ll spot a wolf on the lam take him out to a property slam n he can howl til the ranchers go belly up
u used to luv my teens. u used to luv my butter-fried beans. u used to look for me wen i got lost in the ravine of our… sit there like u’ll fit there once u get there so u can quit there like i’m yr armchair n u won’t split it til i admit it but it’s all a front for being good at putting up a front that’s a front for not putting up a front but of course if u wanna change someone u gotta buy em for more than thr worth then sit around waiting for them to give u the change. o, my dolly llama, won’t u keep it comin, like we mite be broke but u alws luvd slummin, but if u wana quit yr job as a frame for a bruise, then i’ll drop my non-gig as sumthin no one can use, n we’ll go runnin for the hills like a river trippin out n if the drags come by we’ll fuckin lock the fuckers out as we pull ourselves up by wut brot us down makin luv like it wuz before the go-around. luv may be born of lies but it’s true becuz our lives refuse to go our way til our luv’s more than we say. remember wen we wur fallin u called to me n u took me all in, n we staged our demonstration agenst the rest. if we can luv, all can luv. if we can luv, all can luv. so as u wait for me in bed, glow, for every nite we shall be wed.
Snugger Bush 00:56
she sed her mother wuz a photo bomb on wer the water used to run. her pussy quivered like a roll of sod just waitin on a greener thumb. we bilt our snugger in the old rose bush n the thorns chewed us all to shit. u’ll taste our blood if u go suckin much on the ‘cicles that the hot months spit.
someone did sumthin t’u or sorta like u now u all futw too n i don’t noe wut jesus dahmer wd do b’y jump the fence to have yr run of the zoo? mayb’u don’t ‘member wer yr velveteen’s at; try lookin neath yr touchy shit for shat. then take the gracious to the water gap wer we be singin “elevate the lap.” there is no bathroom in hate there is no manly in rape there is no backwards in ass there is no godly in wrath ain’t nuthin real in the bounce house social cept the posh chuckin mob at the gauchal so get out wile ya still got yr we shawl n come covey in the cis-interspecial all the mamas got the plums that r plumbtious, n the daddies packin umbles that replush us if havin all is yr thrall it’s enuf just to sit n breathe free of seethe in the lush must. i cd not roam (sumthins movin in yr gun) death had been sewn (from yrself u better run) over my home so i grabd the first freaky funky man i found n i cried, o brother, plz help me shout… elevate the lap til the broken clap to the sad in rap til our teeth r flat to a greener map O o o keep it slow yes or no? here we go
wut wd i not give to eat all the yung, to lik the nubile fruit with my evil tung, wud wd i not give to beat myself alive? i can’t close my mouth, everything’s vanilla, el dorado shiggers out her pink chinchilla, wut wd i not give to pupe another hive? she’s like a river no one’s ever ran. i’m a chinese cowboy luvn all i dam. i’d luv to dream of u but u won’t let me sleep. i hate to bunraku wen i cd spirochete. wut wd i not do? wut wd i not give to pump on the pure, to scrub the sweet pristine genst my dirty fur, wud wd i not give to hear my baby cry? i can’t stop the salmon spawnin in my soul, silk n money dribl out her hushy hole, wud wd i not give to suck that ruddy fry? she’s like a proverb no one’s ever sed, i’m the rhizome jesus, buried in my hed, i’d luv to pay for u but u won’t let me count, i hate to kinkajou wen i can catamount, wut wd i not do? wut wd i not give to nook on pshaw, to root for yr curd with my clumzy paw, wut wd i not give to fuk myself at five? i can’t lak the longin to blame with my bliss, i grope at the mirror but i run from a kiss, wut wd i not give to blow this paradise? she’s like a statue no one’s ever carved, i’m a handless sculptor proud cuz i starv, i’d luv to fite for u but u cut off my hands, i hate to cpu wen i can lollygags, wut wd i not do? she’s like a munky no one’s ever found, i’m a manchu trapper on her mating ground, i’d luv to let u go but u don’t want me to, y merely incommode wen u can .22? wut wd i not do?
can’t find my man today guess it’s a holiday maybe he’s in the pound maybe he’s gettin crowned it’s like u say all he duz lately is bitch about the bigga tree. i’m dreamin of a lover who puts it in another way n fills me forever with nothin i cd ever name mr. color mr. demanding mr. number mr. unmanning u can’t have me til u blow away
Ravishing 03:49
shall we sleep on the roof tonite, make our luv from a distant lite, til we feel it’s ravishing to be old. i met u wen u wur one, n i wuz too, but i liked em yung, but i’s a fool, cuz yr mor ravishing now yr old. O the rain will cum n tell us wen we’re dun, but for now the sun is handing out free gum. let’s go get us sum. creeps r watching us cups-n-balls our genes, from the underbrush they moan in harmony, we’re thr go-between to deth’s cupidity. in my body they will bury u, they’ll cremate me with yr zippo, we’ll go floating into thr root beer, then they’ll piss us into a souvenir. til then we gona give em our kid show, Bundles n the Burrowing Birthstone, smear the nite sky starrier than van gogh, more unshy than can fit thru an eyehole, a wetter mix never squisht up the boreal, a better dish petri than the tropical, makin tryst with the mist of the euphorial goin dbl down the slide into the slush of the cryptical. if they call the cops, we’ll fly to a cooler flock in nuthin but our socks cuz wen yr old yr non-stop hot. youth will never noe the grass over the hill wer we daily go to roll in daffodils with all our special skills for fleshin out big thrills. tho we run on the gland that time forgot we’re still officially uncontrolled. tho we forget our manners a lot, we can laff away the scold. tho we look like last year’s tater tots, we’re so ravishing to behold.
ambles down, a one-woman crowd, to the timberline every mid-day she the hawks call feathers, in her mouth, just a-playin house, an ancient dragonfly sings with his wings the secret to bellwethers. ther she waits, at an easy pace, for the mystified with current compensable endeavors to rub the luv from her jaunts abuv in thr burnin thighs til they feel thr pains repaid in heather. come n melt into my face n i will take u to a place wer the wind is like a child reachin out for u wer the ripple in the grass runs yr troubles thru wer nuthin’s ever changed yet it’s all so new it is here that u wur born in the calm inside the swarm u can feed on the need that u cast away or u can go to her today into my arms run the rattled wrappt in scissors none come to harm for we conflue as do two rivers she’s been round since clouds cd cry yet with every death she dies u can pray in her shade as u pass away or u can go to her today plz come for me plz come for me free shall u roam sumthin tells me yr the one up to her home come n fill me with the sun
evryone luvd the incredible fume ox which wuzn't really an ox at all; it wuz a mucific gallery space werin sticky brown particulate matter was swabbed into the master gland of the by then extinct unpedigreed primordial nuisance to enculturate a highly charming, if overplotted, strain of this talkative rare slash everywhere bucolic death rattle. get in early n we'll sell u this obscure orifice, securely. power to the people from the sperm of the keno eagle. don't talk to history. she failed anarchy. holding yr own hand n at least stylistically believing u were still gripping tight to the part of u that had been downpaid wen u leased yr first grope with the pollenating insect mascot had long since replaced dry humping yr auto-generated best actor award to the popular tune of "O, cum on, my kiddies, n butt them heads til yr eyes shoot movies into the fissipeds n they kawasaki with ya, kiddies, down the littershed." deth row don't know like escargot the pain inside my pianissimo. it was de rigeuer to give blood to the aperture of the all-discompassing miniature whose piratical medium wuz a critical drip extravagance. and in the middle of the road and there wuz only one road n it wuz calld this ain't the middle of the road there wuz a road that everybody rode toward that unreachable road in the middle of the road. wer, running out of friable air, u set off yr final banksy flair, n tho i smoked my face to cut the glare, yr mis-spellt yelp scented yr delf to my elk n so another boorish beginning ended in a boor's unpenning, as yr lost soul led me to a break wence i cd see none of this has to be. s'obambulated by the undescried, too interjambed to ever collide, our bodies won't be identified til mimesis rise demystified by the little collapse that lurks in the smutch that nobody noes cuz it noes too much save those who fly a deposed aliferous rush to the overgrown handiwork at the dawn of touch that tenders us porous, the air our bed, our dreams a dash thru the overhead, n the more we metaplast the ostent unforesaid closer lobes our luv to trilling reeds relinquished. be the vast includer, free of the master user, feel all yr thrills abrood her, she who fulfills who loose her. so shall we lay amidst the leaves that are the tears of chattelled trees til sighs seize us cuz the breeze believes us n rising free to raise the built off our siblings in the silt our every move is an underling in luv. wer'd the baby mooses go? who gave the supermodel who ate the rockstar idaho? wut duz la intimidada noe that we won't noe? will the feminization of the male gaze merely surrealize the bordello? y won't the god-damnd monarchs mate on solidago? is that disjunct btwn tonality and attitude something you'll outgrow? is this song more maudlin than yellow? will the desert be saved from destinesia if i hug a saguaro? how soon til it's bad to swallow? who told u it wuz ok to play ball in that meadow? do we really need two words for ego and echo? wen will shit stop snowing? how i luv to spoon, especially wen we're fallin, into yr coo cocoon til ya let my server crawl in, "mommy, may i plant my spinach in yr oily ribs?" (in Arabic) O drear bored, u deserve this cuz u preserve us as a disservice to the nervous succulent. gonna unsour i'm gonna unsour my heart today gonna pass out gonna pass out sum stars today we got a wile to take too long let's down a litl smile n sing a sloppy song bout the time we'd like to see bein wut will never be n how that sets us fuckin free, cuz i'm sick a itchn to get rich off bitchin. i wanna regift my mother her only child run the water on rage that i gathered in tinajas of reconciled, for wut the world needs now is for us to need the world like the be needs the guiled to re the wild. it is imperative to the natural narrative that we understand how our firebrand converts in envy the joys of generosity to that torching ochlocrat: where's my habit at? don't take my luv.


All songs written by Kirk Wood Bromley. Produced by KB2. All instruments and voices by Kirk Wood Bromley. Some vocals and instruments by Sandstar and some keyboards by Kevin Blackler. Mixed and mastered by Kevin Blackler. Recorded at The Home Of in BK.


released April 10, 2017


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The Good Hard

The Good Hard is playwright, poet, and musician Kirk Wood Bromley's band featuring players and producers in NYC and Arizona. Email the "Contact The Good Hard" link below if you wanna talk.

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