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Little Johnny Hooker

Oh, Im gonna tell you a story bout a little boy.
Oh, a sad little boy.
Im talkin bout little johnny hooker.
Little johnny hooker was a sissy on the street all his life --
All his natural born life.
Until his daddy took him aside and said,
Son, now heres your switchblade knife boy.
He said get out in the street boy,
Cut yourself some meat boy.
Get out on your own side of the road,
And lighten my load.
Johnny made a mistake and took his knife down to school one day.
Hey, yeah, yeah.
And, when the bell rang for lunch.
Freddie miller went and got in johnnys way boy.
He took his knife from his pocket, pushed a button on the side.
When he seen the queen steel,
You ought to seen the light in freddys eyes.
Oh, yeah ...
Little johnny hooker learned his lesson from the knife now you see,

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song performed by Grand Funk Railroad
Added by Lucian Velea
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Busy Booked Hooker

Dressed nice and neatly.
She looked so hot.
With a weave that fizzled.

Dressed nice and neat,
Dressed nice and neatly.
With composure there.

Dressed nice and neat,
Dressed nice and neatly.
She avoided disaster.

Dressed nice and neat,
She played it sweet,
And undeterred.
She had wisdom and the drive...
To keep my interest flowing.
While 'peaking' as I'm growing,
To maximize the widening of her thighs.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Freak On

You think I don't see you but I do,
Creeping around with your hot pants on,
And them patent leather shoes,
Please forgive me baby,
Cos I've been up here too long,
Come on everybody freak along so that Wheatus can hear ya,
Hey now baby your actin' kinda crazy,
What has come over you?
Hey now sugar your actin' like a hooker,
Gotta do what you gotta do,
To get your freak on shoowap,
Baby where have you been,
Come get your freak on shoowap,
I think its time we begin,
Come get your freak on shoowap,
Don't make me say it again,
Come get your freak on shoowap,
I heard you were asking for a ride,
You say "take me home in your brothers jeep,
To a place where we can hide",

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song performed by Wheatus
Added by Lucian Velea
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There's a little bit of hooker in every woman. A little bit of hooker and a little bit of God.

quote by Sarah Miles
Added by Lucian Velea
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Grand Theft Auto

She was a young sweet kid
Wearing a black choker
On her scrawny teenage neck
Living in a fatherless home
In close proximity to drugs,
Her lonely mother lost
In the pursuit of rent
On survival’s calamitous streets.

A lot of nearly emaciated girls
Link arms and bodies and souls
With the worse of dirty gangster boys.
Soon they’re paying dues on hooker avenues
In high-heeled hooker shoes
Until their already dreamless eyes
Glaze over with lifelessness.
Of course, there will be an explosive mix
Of violent degradation and sex.

She was a young sweet kid,

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poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Fishing in the Wei River

In waters still as a burnished mirror's face,
In the depths of Wei, carp and grayling swim.
Idly I come with my bamboo fishing-rod
And hang my hook by the banks of Wei stream.
A gentle wind blows on my fishing-gear
Softly shaking my ten feet of line.
Though my body sits waiting for fish to come,
My heart has wandered to the Land of Nothingness.
Long ago a white-headed man
Also fished at the same river's side;
A hooker of men, not a hooker of fish,
At seventy years, he caught Wen Wang.
But I, when I come to cast my hook in the stream,
Have no thought either of fish or men.
Lacking the skill to capture either prey,
I can only bask in the autumn water's light.
When I tire of this, my fishing also stops;
I go to my home and drink my cup of wine.

poem by Bai Juyi
Added by Poetry Lover
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You Were A Hooker At Sixteen

YOU WERE A HOOKER BY SIXTEEN

You were a hooker by sixteen.
Your mother, your madame
The navy at N.F.B. Esquimalt, your john.
In the triplex, next door, upstairs
on a Friday night, all the windows
broken from the inside by whiskey bottles.
My friend, since you were seven,
how we struggled to keep our innocence
out of the world's greasy hands.
Oil slick on the rose.
White peonies of blood-stained Kleenex
in the toilet bowl. Eclipse of the flowers
in a city of gardens. Even when the stars
were out, the darkness lurked, the doorways
housed strangers like trap door spiders.
Joy held a grudge against our wariness.
The windows didn't trust us, and the street
was a firewalk of ordeals to test us

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poem by Patrick White
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Three Wooden Crosses

a farmer and a preacher a hooker and a teacher
Ridin on a midnight bus
bound for Mexico
one was headed for vacation
one for higher education
and two of them were searchin for lost souls
and that driver never ever saw the stop sign
and eighteen wheelers can't stop on a dime
Chorus:
there are three wooden crosses on the right side of the highway
why there's not four of them heaven only knows
I guess it's not what you take when you leave this world behind you
It's what you leave behind you when you go
That farmer left his harvest
A hime and eighty acres
the faith and love for growing things in his young son's heart
and that teacher left her wisdom in the minds of lots of children
did her best to give em all a better start
and that preacher whispered, "can't you see the promise land"
as he laid his blood stained bible in that hooker's hand

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song performed by Randy Travis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Finding Oneself......... [EXTREMELY LONG; Growing Up; Relationships; Humor

Part One

When Bri was 13 and in grade 8,
he noticed classmates beginning to date.
At school (other) boys got their way with the girls with a kiss.
But Bri didn't have the urge; he thought 'what's this? '
He decided he should give it a try,
but each time he tried, the girl would cry.
Not only would she cry; she would run away and hide.
Bri felt between himself and the other boys a great divide.

Back home after school he'd seclude himself in his room and cry.
Through his mind was repeated the question 'why? ' 'Why DO they cry? Why? '

Bri was a straight A+ student with no flubs.
He played football but (except for 'Cooking') he joined not clubs.

After a few months Bri gave up (on girls) . He had NO close friends to set him right;
his parents should have known the problem, but they weren't bright.

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poem by Bri Edwards
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I like the small clubs.

quote by John Lee Hooker
Added by Lucian Velea
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