WILD SIDE

                             THE WILD SIDE

                                   By Doc Walton

I've walked on the wild side,

but never for long.

I'm cursed by a conscience

that says, "This is wrong."

I'll call it a curse,

but just for this minute,

while I ponder the "Big Fun"

that won't find me in it.

'Cause I'm drawn to the low,

the base and the bad.

It's all so damn tempting

the things I ain't had.

All those high painted women

with their come hither glances,

their promise of dark treats

imagination enhances.

Should I mention the drugs,

come get high come get low,

that will take me to places

I so want to go.

And the booze that keeps flowing

long into the night

and weakens the resolve

to keep doing right.

(Forget stealing and dealing

and violence and such

they’re ruled out completely

but not always by much.)

Sure I’ve leaned in aplenty

To taste wild’s fare

but my cranky old conscience

won't let me stay there.

It yanks me right back

when I near the brink

of leaving the good life

to go join the stink.

So it's really a blessing

I'm talking about

my aforesaid conscience

that keeps "wild" out.

Now I’m raising my shot glass

in a heartfelt salute

to my disciplined conscience

so clearly astute.

It’s telling me now

I should put down my glass

‘cause tequilla’s a vice

I should willingly pass.

There are times I won’t kid you

(Watch me throw back my shot)

when my uptight old conscience’s

completely forgot.

Cheers!