Even Crooked Trees Grow Straight Down South
Poem By Ron Eugene Surrey
Click here to listen to "Even Crooked Trees Grow Straight Down South" Over in Allen Town, where tent shows attract fancy sheets!
A dark field hand, was hurled back to Turkey Creek!
Running feet making curling sounds,
A moonlit night chasing souls to the ground!
Brown eyes toward the north, tongue-in-cheek hangin' out
Of the mouth, even crooked trees grow straight down south! There in the midst of a perverted and crooked forest,
Echoes in the wind fierce agitated voices!
Tracking dogs and jack-o-lanterns,
Encountered trembling limbs in handcuffs,
A stretched neck rubbing against the pine bluff, But in the midst of the serpent's den, boldly stood three
Sacred trees, without a sway, without a bend!
Heraldin' Charley boy to proclaim from the mouth,
Even crooked trees grow straight down south! Die, but die later, let blood mix with sand,
Till the power of hatred no longer stands!
Swiftly prune and snap the twigs,
Till justice prevail for every man! Tell 'em up north, that the
Word is out, even crooked trees grow straight down south!