Ring Me Another...

I need a taxi, beansie. I need one... hook me up. Whistle one for me. Whistle into the microphone under the bright lights for me, honey pie. I need a taxi, whistle, taxi. Hook me up tomorrow, hook me up right now. Lighten up a bit, swell towards me, sweet thang. oooooh, i need a taxi baby. i need to ride around the city under the bright lights, lovely lips. I need some taxi healing, I need some wonderful pastel umbrella t-skirts in my life, just a bit more. under the sewer system lies a community of indulgence, and that's where I'm gonna tell my taxi driver to take me, if I can ever blood-orange wire that information to ya, soft and luscious. Oh, you're saying I'd be rightly tightly wandering spellbound around the chalk undertow your big beautiful eyes pull on my belt buckle - deny it, taxi serplenkter, deny it forever - just know that under the bright lights where the jazzy silky smooth creamy carpet-ride gets pumpin' it gets really, really steamy...baby.

Under the hood he told me a while ago, but this taxi does things differently, it doesn't even ride, Rosie - it slides. We pause for a smooth sec because that's what you do in front of something so easy on the eyes. we roll out and the bright lights beam on me, baby. well i guess that's the way things are these days, sweet thang.

And when the stereo drops out, even momentarily, that's when those loaded wristfuls forge on forward, carrying high octane taxi fuel, friendly foe. we revolve around the new force field, the bright lights start humpin', foxy - and the neon green teases that trashy comfortable maroon into excitement. and when you see something like that, you slow the fuck down baby, and you pay your respect. because that's what the legend would've done, that's how the garage master would've done it.

And in the time we call the "Smoothly-golden, Savory Ages," my man ruled this here grimey sidewalk. we're talking about the man who not only plugged in those topsy curvy neon garnishes; we're talking about the guy who single-man-handedly invented the luscious language of light, you yellow-robed legend you.

We love the driving so much. We need stereo again, now that we're done with that stop. Whooshin' and sidewalk sweepin' through life is what I desire my sophisticated friend - so proceed baby, keep it goin'. And we rode and rode baby and the left lane became the right lane and the yellows bowed down to us and we accepted their deference. In my taxi honey, I'm not up to my ankles in the grimey haystacks of my city, I'm back in the Smoothly-golden, Savory Ages, and I'm with my man - I see you prowlin' around on your chrome cat - and I want you to tell me about your life my man. Talk to me baby.

Tell me about your trips my happy man - talk to me about the fucking freeway dragonflies and the wingbolts and the fucking right lane shining regalia. you went all the way down, you're a legend, you're mine. Sometimes I laugh and think of you, you classy cat you - I know the way your bottom lip probably protruded when you and the golden goddess made love - teach me my man. I'm still here, I'm still here in this glorious fucking taxi baby, hook me up. Hook me up, teach me baby. Teach me before I have to step back out into the bright lights, where the stereo stops. Where the world stands still but my ill-fated heart keeps aging. Slow down taxi man! Slow the fuck down when you see something like that....because my man would've - and his eyes would've opened real big.