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Feature

Grandma Get Your Gun

By Tonya Maria Matthews | Posted 2/20/2002

Grandma, get your gun.

The wolves are in the yard.

They have come for the children.

You ain't really got to shoot at nobody

just aim for the moon

graze Alpha Centauri's shoulder

let stardust rain down

knock the devil on his ass

make him think twice

bout comin roun' here so quick

soooo slick.

No more.

Grandma, get your gun.

The wolves are in the yard.

It's feeding time.

Destiny is a delicacy

promise quite tasty and

legacy will stick sweet to your ribs

like family-reunion barbecue.

Revolution can be a bit lumpy

but goes down smooth like your mashed potatoes.

Grandma, get your gun.

Used to be safe out here in the country.

Young kings and queens could run through the fields

sniffing daffodils

but now the daffodils have been replaced

by snap dragons

breathing down their necks

fires of hellish existence burning away

memories of how to be royalty.

At every corner a new definition of Venus

flytrapping the children's souls

swallowing their consciousness whole

convincing them the natural state of their spirit

is not beautiful.

New-age roosters have turned the babies into

Forgetful farm foul.

Coops are filled to overflow

with eagles

thinking that the life of a chicken is acceptable

that flying is overrated.

The weasel has become bold and

the fox fearless

they'll come up over around the fence

into the yard in broad daylight

to snatch your eggs.

Someone taught the jackal how to play the drum.

Now he's tap tap tap tap tapping to the beat

tap tap tap tap tapping to the beat

has mastered the boom-bip.

Watch the children form a line behind him

shaking their groove-thang.

He'll dance them out of the village.

Grandma, the piper's price is too high.

Just shoot him.

I know we hid the guns

to protect the babies

but now the sisters are being

prostituted by hair dye

pimped with fashion.

I know we hid the guns

to protect the babies from misogyny

misandry, misanthropy

but now brothers don't know

how to defend themselves.

Swapping chains for puppet strings

Watch them knock each other out.

Grandma, get your gun shove it down throats

Make them eat their words.

Make them stop eating us for breakfast.

Grandma, get your gun.

Get the buckshot, the hollow-point bullets.

Grandma, get the camouflage.

It is time to stop playing

because life was never a game

freedom never will be and

our survival never is.

Grandma, get your gun.

wolves are in the yard

Grandma, get your gun.

wolves are in the yard

Grandma, Grandma

get your gun

and give it to me.

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