Show Poem: Dance Class / 4-12 &13-14 @ Double Trouble weekend: Replay Lounge (Lawrence, KS) & The Brick (KC, MO)

Mama’s got a squeeze box
And Papa’s got a brand new bag
And You were right when you said I might have to, some day,
Fight For my right to party
The party cops are a real thing
The anti party “Party” is in full effect
They will make us all pay for their lack of skills on the dance floor
But  “No” my friends
We are not judges
We are teachers
Our class room is the dance floor
Our chalk boards are our wiggly asses
It’s not about skill
It’s not about obeying rules
There are no rules in ass class
There is no test
There is no grade
There is only research
There is only motion and emotion
There is no wrong way for an ass to move
It’s not about how much you charge for admission to the live show
It’s about everybody putting a little somethin’ in the tip jar
And when I say tip jar
I mean dance floor
And when I say dance floor
I mean: Mountains & Forests & Lakes & Rivers
All that creeps and crawls
And climbs aboard this crazy boat ride
It’s about the birds and their beaks
And the special way they feed their babies
I want you  to feed me on the dance floor like a baby bird.
Feed me
Like a hungry baby bird on fire