Respect. I got boots older than you, boy,
so don't say the c-word like it's bad.
I know what I'm doing. Do you?
You say you want some sweet young
thing, her head full of fluffy-dovey love,
soft and forgiving, naive. No rough life
led, no diamond-hard eyes watching
you work. Rosebud beauty just lies
there and sweats while you wish
for a lover who'll bend your pride
to her knee, thrill you and show
you everything they can't capture
on glossy paper or film or magnetic
tape. You can't do better than your own
imagination if your friends all have staples.
My flesh is real, but it's my mind
you want, even if you don't know it yet.
Respect. I got scars older than you, boy.