Twas two nights before New Years, two thousand plus seven
KP had it's Christmas party, was it hell or heaven?
The food was layed out in the kitchen with care,
Gorging and feasting would soon take place there.
The drunkards all boasted all stout in their deeds
while visions of Belgium all danced in their heids; (Scottish pronounciciation)
Kathy's in Sweeden,
Randy's on sabatical.
The group must move farward with players slightly less fanatical.
Mel times three, Mich times 2, Wil, Mondo, Polo, Ro, Cel, Crispy, Hotrod, Nette, Eye, PCP , and Merboo.
When out on the floor misconceptions shatter,
Our history on stage is all that does matter.
A quick change is made in the wings in a flash,
weekends are for glory, weekdays are for cash.
Brada's and sistah's stand with me with pride,
as truth and misconception colide.
KP is my familly more than mine is.
And we grow by generation with all these new kids.
One day I canot dance, one day I canot play;
one day I'll dream and boast of my momments on stage.
Another old story from an old man undeserved,
I hope you enjoy the culture I helped preserve.
Shy.
It's like 630 am and I should be asleep. But I'll publish this till I can rewrite. No takebacks till then.
posted by R @ 5:10 AM
Comments: 1
