Lee Roy thinks I'm weird
And I don't understand why.
I wuz jes sittin' on the front porch, minding my own biznes, watchin' the sun set and sippin' on some ice tea, glad the day was endin', and lookin' forward to a hot shower and goin' to bed.
Around the corner zips this sporty little red pickup, (you know, the quarter-ton size, settin' way down low like a Mexican veehicle) vibratin' to the boom of the sound system, and skids up to Lee Roy's front door. This kid with tattoos and spiked green hair hops out, like he's gonna go ring the doorbell, then he gets back in and honks the horn. (What we call a Mexican doorbell. I'm thinking, "Hmm. He don't look Mexican.")
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