The Bottoms from Casa by Roger Dean Young & the tin cup

THE BOTTOMS

Yesterday’s breakfast has gone hard
I’m in my house-coat, I’m out in the yard
Ducks south in a V
Periscope resting on my knee
I’m coming up, up from the bottoms
Birds wouldn’t be flyin’ if I hadn’t shot at ‘em
She wouldn’t have flown if hadn’t a caught on, held on to her troubles
Take me back, take me back, take me back to the bottoms

On the lawn 
There’s a trial goin’ on
Hear ye my son, you’ve been found wanting

There’s a plastic watering can someone tipped over
Piston without rings without a motor
Jet stream the only sign of company
Solitudes price watch others fly free
So I’m coming up, up from the bottom
Let buoyancy surface me, not even tryin’
Revelator’s lines still drawin’ me ashore, keepin’ me afloat

On the lawn 
There’s a trial goin’ on
Hear ye my son, you’ve been found wanting

Washed up underwear hung out on the line
Soft clap of thunder from time to time
You can measure the distance with a metered out rhyme
I take my peanuts with chili powder and lime
Drifting from meaning to less my crime

On the lawn
There’s a gavel comin’ down
Excuse me daydreamer, you’ve been found wanting.

• Folk
• ramshackle
• Victoria