a poem for your new home:
Larry-Bob; Nick; Marcy (The Idiot Savant)
by Michael/Violetta

Mercy, much very now it is a-warming in here,
Because those Radical Faeries Fags, we're doing what
we do! Wha that? Folks wanna know. Okay we go
Yo here we come! catch us in dis, poesie waltzy rant
scmaltzy nosy chant. dig us dressing up to ACT-UP!
No Fear/have no fear of overacting just don't be
reacting. O say? Say act up or perish! the boys should
It's fear of AIDS/have to sweep out the HOUSE!
Rock the fear of Queer!
Rock the fear of Queer!
Rock the fear of Queer!
have to rock it outta here, because
of gender-blur. Learn to blend/don't you be Passing it
off! "Pure?" Heh I'm not sure we want it when we think we
got it -- fur fly -- for fear of "bi" (Girl's girl has
a secret boy-toy...Faggot say, play boy play/ 'scuse me,
you don't mean yer "2-way?") O Mister hasn't you heard the
news/ we don't buy those blues/ Fear of Queer is
yellow news/ don't hype it here.
We say it like we mean it. "Girl!"
We say it like we mean it. "Girl!"
We say it like we mean it. "Girl!"

Rad Faes NO re-act, we/original tack
We go dance askance! Direct to you:
institutional hetero VOIDHEADS dig this --
sisters and brothers, loving like warriors.
We call you out to act up you girl-boys, boy-girls,
ladies too! From blue-rinse Butch-and-Femme; to kid queers
fucking safe/and tight -- it's TIME to fight the Right!
So, what do you say we bring it on it
from the rear, and from side to side.
We'll dance askance this gay trance,
from Minneapolis, Chi-town, and Kansas/
all the way to Wishy-Washytown! Gonna over-
act the Nicollet Mall then, all the way
to the State Capitol, and on/
be in the best of taste as we waste
be in the best of taste as we waste
be in the best of taste as we waste
/ the Pentagon.
These old, yella, Patton's, sending our
boys to do the work of uncle Sam Satan!
We're lovers! How can we hate 'em?
Sweet teens, farmer Jah/from cannabis
jungle to sexy Panama and Phillipines --
no homo Establishment monkey gonna send me up
to shoot gun, shoot bomb (They going to not
escape the fallout from their bad-taste/
hard-on) Because Queer home-boys not going
to do thing one about your messes no more,
this mess you got yourself into, when you
traded your closet, for the family store...
and got burned. Listen: The Racisty Sexisty
Het clubs don't like your shit, when will
you learn! You're family business and we
mean to queer your her/and his-ness!
Faeries don't mind acting up-and-out,
when it means we're going to clout this,
butt kissing, Miss Sam Soldier shit. Get hip! Get hip!
You Leaders, think you're some kind of
Queer Minerva/don't give the liberation cause
your shitty-lip service, we snap your claptrap!
We read your beads your saprophytic,
sanctimonious assimilation rap
Dig, "militant" doesn't mean a dilettante
Dig, "militant" doesn't mean a dilettante
Dig, "militant" doesn't mean a dilettante

Vi calls you all, my faery band
to lend a hand to brother rake or
sister tart/I want us all to do your parts
(and each other's too) in the Dance
Askance. Boy to boy and girl to girl,
or loving just any one we choose
in the world. Lift up the feet,
dancing and jamming taking back the
street, or sashaying down a country lance,
taking back the game/ from Mister Charlie,
Uncle Sam Cracker Jack and Aunt Jemam
Chase away crack pushers cops bashers baitors,
traitors -- better stay out of town --
Wash them down the drain, ridiculous
clowns! We'll wash you out,
snap, rap, hiss, even kiss you down
even kiss you down.

Because we don't need your shit.
Radical Faeries & our friends are
fixing to dance you out of town!
Mercy mercy. Just one more word --
on behalf of Larry-bob, Marcy, Nick:
Don't mess this house or I'll slap
your tits.

From Holy Titclamps #6
Copyright ©1990, 1995 Violetta
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