BUTTON TAG IN
CLEARVIEW HELL
Well, then, pardner. You are what you are and,
what is this, some suburban inferno we're stuck
in? Clearview, they say? Hell no. Even the barber
shop has an opinion here; the fires and flames are
licking the piers, and all the young kids wear naval
piercings and wrong tattoos. Whatever shall be done?
Pass the laws for long-sleeve shirts, headwraps and
bubblegum - make 'em sure, each one, of what they're
doing and tell them we don't tolerate no new infractions.
No more make-out joints and no more chewing. Got that?
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I just went down today to see that railroad trestle, and now
everyone's writ their names in blood and lipstick. No way
is that to stay. I don't care who disagrees, I'm the Sheriff
around here you hear? I'll run them out of town, all of 'em,
on a rail then if I have to. And I wouldn't care none their
mamas and daddies. They know it. Gotta' be a crystal-clear
reflection of this place in every piece of water. We want
goal, and we want business, and now and how.
I'm not playing any button-tag here.
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