Wheel House -- Lyrics about a woman strutting like Mae West

Wheel House

  Lyrics by JD Glasscock

The Lady's so hot

The Lady's so fine

She's rolling in my wheel house

The Lady's so hot

The Lady's so fine

She's rolling in my wheel house

Me and the boys taking the streets

all slicked up

and looking to meet

Gonna kick in the bars

slam some shots

create some noise

and get'em in their weak spots

The Lady's so hot

The Lady's so fine

She's rolling in my wheel house

The Lady's so hot

The Lady's so fine

She's rolling in my wheel house

The clubs are hitting

Women smoking

The music’s tight

And we all fist pumping

But a lick and a card trick

a wink and some slow gin

and under the lights

we were ready to get in

But then the show stopped

She strutted to the beats of some hip hop

A dress cut short showing some thigh

tripping my game and doing a drive by

Bang Bang right to the chest

She made me stumble

doing a Mae West

The Lady's so hot

The Lady's so fine

She's rolling in my wheel house

The Lady's so hot

The Lady's so fine

She's rolling in my wheel house

She shimmied her sway

left me a slave

moved like liquid

and fucked with my brain waves

And there I was

a man of means

stuttering like a school boy

lost in a daydream

Yet I found my thrill

Struck my heart still

slipped to her hips

humming Blueberry Hill

that's right

Blueberry Hill

The Lady's so hot

The Lady's so fine

She's rolling in my wheel house

The Lady's so hot

The Lady's so fine

She's rolling in my wheel house

But this is one day

where this beauty Queen

refused to play

threw my game back

and shuffled away

But before she went

she blew a kiss and said

" I like girls and

you can drop dead"

The Lady's so hot

The Lady's so fine

She's rolling in my wheel house

The Lady's so hot

The Lady's so fine

She's rolling in my wheel house

And here's a shout out!!!!!!

A snifter in perpetuity to a revelation

  Poem by JD Glasscock (From his book Street Toads and Broken Roads which can be found on lulu)

To gaze upon destiny's coiled palm and yet not see a future..only scatterings of images broiled within the emotional tapestry of want over need.sometimes..when truth is as inevitable as a last breath in the step of death..still, it can be duplicity's innocuous diadem penning a letter of love to the vacuous denial of self worth..slipping swiftly within shadows articulating the nethers of never was nor will be

Lost in Wonderland (Written for a friend for her auditions)

Short Film by

JD Glasscock

INT.  SMALL ROOM -- DAY

Hope(A young teenage girl, pregnant) sits in a disheveled dump of a room, small bed, one dresser with a vanity mirror cracked and fractured, trash strewn everywhere, old food, empty liquor bottles.  She sits on the edge of the bed rubbing her swollen belly while she has rubber tubing wrapped along her arm and old scabs below it, on the bed  a really mangled copy of "Through the Looking Glass" by Carrol.  She moves her hand from her belly to itch at the scabs.  Next to her on the bed is a needle full of heroin.  She gazes at the fractured glass of the vanity mirror seeing within it's cracked surface her gaunt eyes, her belly, then focusing on her scratching... she stops.  Her reflection is distorted in the spider webs of glass.

 HOPE

  Maybe just....just a little......take,  soften... edge.....(Shivers) just a little wouldn't....(Coughs) it wouldn't   hurt    ...no... not hurt...my baby.....just a little....(She picks up needle) maybe...yea...it could make him brilliant...an artist... oh...he would make a beautiful...artist...(She flicks the needle)

She looks past the edge of the needle into the mirror, out of focus, the needle in focus, then needle rolls out of focus and mirror in the fragility of her into focus through the cracks, the dissolution.  She screams and drops the needle.

HOPE

No...(Tears, hands on belly)  what am...?   What AM I!!!!! Who would do that to  ....to her helpless baby..... I hate you Daddy....I HATE YOU!!!!!  Oh my baby, God!!!  Dear God!!!  What have I done? What have I ??!!!!!   I hate.......I hate this....I hate me!!!! Please!!! Please....someone, anyone.......why?   why?   (Tears) How do I?.....How do i get out of this.....how..... do I get the fuck out of this wonderland?????????

  She falls down on edge of bed, tears streaming......she sees the needle, then back at mirror........she leans down and grabs the needle......She gazes in mirror.

HOPE

Maybe just the edge....an artist... beautiful.....(Tears, hands shaking with needle going towards arm)I hate...

Goes dark.

The End.

Breath is the history of our communion

  Poem by JD Glasscock

Intrinsic disipation of breath in the arc of life...wisdom is the letters runed in the scars age carves to our skin in the moments of hardship....in the struggle of streets and the hard concrete of unshakable belief...we are all connected in the bones of history spinning bardic riddles in the tapestry of humanity's birth,  first falls out of the womb of Creation..She was my everything when something or nothing would of been enough.