Flim-Flam dances to the beat of a drugged out drummer
Her moves are suggestive and sometimes vulgar
Her hands are damp and soiled holding onto the grimy pole
She’s topless and her dancing's like a listless puppet performing a role
She has a striking body and her hair is curly and luxuriant
It makes patrons’ thoughts descend to the prurient
As the evening lumbers on Flim-Flam’s dancing slows to a crawl
She’s tired, hungry and wants to curl up and bawl.
A huge man approaches the stage sneering at her with tight mean eyes
He’s obese, sweaty, dirty, and wears an obscene leather tie
Flim-Flam looks down and backs up in mortal fear
It’s her stepfather; he’s found her; he staggers; leers
And hollers, “Got ya, Gal, you gonna be sorry you ran away, ya hear?”
He reaches up and makes a grab for Flim-Flam
But a bouncer steps in with a bone-crushing slam
Her stepfather pulls a hunting knife bellowing and slashing
But the bouncer is bigger, fitter and not afraid of grabbing
Crazed bullies liquored, riled up and flailing
The bouncer drops the stepfather to marry the floor
Disarms him, pins him while hollering, “Flim-Flam, get out the back door”.
Slamming into the bouncer’s 4x4, Flim-Flam hunkers down weeping
She’s aware of sirens, shouting, cursing, tires screeching
She hears the Miranda given just before she slides into oblivion
A gentle hand shakes her awake, it’s the bouncer, his name is Jake
Her new husband smiles with kindness, his love shining forth
“We are going to the farm where I was born, it’s way up north
It’s where you and I (and later, maybe our children) will life our life
I don’t want “Flim-Flam” by my side; I want you, Grace Marshall, my wife
He holds her close wiping tears, kissing, reassuring
“Flim-Flam” disappears; a loving story, happy ending and a promising beginning.
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