A pic of Chrome Dome Mike at the GRACEful Buys Thrift Shop in Grapevine, Texas in 2014.

"The Good Taste Police"

 

A poem by Chrome Dome Mike Kimbro

 

Structure Scheme:  Accent points for all 6 verses align.

 

Read along to my Spoken Verse Performance!

 

 

INTRO

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

You made a big boo-boo.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

They’re coming for you.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

Yeah they’re gonna throw the book at you.

 

 

VERSE 1

 

My routine life sure was getting old

 

I needed to get outside of the mold

 

Of the genre some call blues and rhythm.

 

 

I heard my muse whisper,

 

In her sexy Scottish voice.

 

(When she calls, Mister,

 

I don’t really have a choice)

 

“Hey it’s time to pen a street walker anthem.”   (“Yes, Madam.”)

 

 

CHORUS

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

You made a big boo-boo.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

They’re coming for you.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

Yeah they’re gonna throw the book at you.

 

 

VERSE 2

 

My lawyer’s plan was not all that bright.

 

He battled so hard for my basic right

 

To a jury of twelve bald lyricists.

 

 

The judge called for silence.

 

And that’s when his honor spoke:

 

“First degree rudeness

 

That’s the statute that you broke”

 

Didn’t know that such a law even exists.  (“I was pissed!”)

 

 

CHORUS

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

You made a big boo-boo.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

They’re coming for you.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

Yeah they’re gonna throw the book at you.

 

 

VERSE 3

 

I thumbed a ride to the big house door.

 

And sadly I watched my hair hit the floor.

 

Then they put me in a jump suit of yella.

 

 

First thing after dinner.

 

Warden held a sing-a-long.

 

“You Oughta Know”.

 

Twas his daughter’s favorite song.

 

So we sang it every night acapella.    (“What a fella.”)

 

 

OPTIONAL BRIDGE  (loosly relyricing Alanis Morissette's "You Oughta Know")

 

Once I wrote a song.

 

'Bout a ho and pimp.

 

They said that was wrong.

 

So off to jail I went.

 

 

But hey, I got my theme.

 

From Mary Magdalene.

 

Yeah I took a subject right from The Bible.

 

 

I left out imagery.

 

To avoid controversy.

 

Guess I could have chose a different title.

 

 

Once a month we have steaks

 

Not the ones that I make

 

On a charcoal grill,

 

We call it Mystery Meat.

 

 

They put me in laundry.

 

So when I rejoin society.

 

I will have a skill.

 

They say I give good sheet.

 

 

To the frat that I pledged.

 

The Holocaust is alleged.

 

They like Tim McVeigh a lot.

 

Say he's a real patriot.

 

 

They say that Earl Turner's diary.

 

Is the plan to set us free.

 

I've heard our President slurrred.

 

They even used the N-Word.

 

 

I'm told that Hitler was nice,

 

And Francis is the anti-Christ.

 

They believe The Bible is divine.

 

'Cept for the Jews being God's own kind.

 

 

When asked if there was a guide.

 

For membership they replied:

 

"To get into our fraternity.

 

Here's our test for eligibility:

 

 

Asian is not Caucasian.

 

Hispanic is not Germanic.

 

Sub-Saharian is not Aryan.

 

Towel head is not Towhead.

 

And Jews give us the blues."

 

 

Guess when I saw all those swastikas...

 

I, I, I should have known.

 

 

VERSE 4

 

Of solitaire the guards often spoke.

 

In quiet and dark the weak always broke.

 

Just the place to make up for my transgressions.

 

 

And the weeks I spent downstairs.

 

Are the ones I cherish most.

 

For with me down there.

 

Was George Harrison's ghost.

 

Helping me to groove some sweet chord progressions.

 

 

CHORUS

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

You made a big boo-boo.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

They’re coming for you.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

Yeah they’re gonna throw the book at you.

 

 

VERSE 5

 

To shorten up my long six month tour.

 

I studied the guards’ routines to be sure.

 

I’d be ready to make my run for it.

 

 

My chance came at sunrise.

 

When the guards faced toward the sun.

 

No time for goodbyes.

 

Shots are fired as I run.

 

But my friend the sun made sure that none would hit.   (“As I split.”)

 

 

CHORUS

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

You made a big boo-boo.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

They’re coming for you.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

Yeah they’re gonna throw the book at you.

 

 

VERSE 6

 

Since breaking out my life’s not the same.

 

My old dog won’t come when I call his name.

 

And my Mama wishes she chose adoption.

 

 

Now you wanna ask me.

 

If my art was worth the price.

 

I’ll tell ya buddy.

 

When you’re writing about vice.

 

Use a fake pen name if you’ve got the option.   (“That's my advice.“)

 

 

CHORUS

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

You made a big boo-boo.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

They’re coming for you.

 

The Good Taste Police,

 

Yeah they’re gonna throw the book at you.

 

 

Keywords:  Poems about political correctness, poems about prison, poems about jury trials, poetry in good taste, bad taste poems.