She Tries to Be Straight
The way the story went three legit members of a litter moved from New York to Cincinnati in some alarming karmic sentencing. One brother was the drummer in Color Test, one fronted one band, and another fronted these four Brit-inspired town criers. They played shows on indie bills and had one full length release. If someone were playing live in a public house on a pre-car journey past a couple county lines, it would be the ABs. There was a femme de chambre and she would not take credit or let a hairy hand get near her purse but you were darlin once you’d paid. The beds in the common room with all the men were made of straw-bound cloth. It fell out the front and back and was tamped down in the shape of the biggest bodies who had rented it. The sounds and smells were unbefitting even salesmen. The players donned their floppy bell hats and put on a pantomime that broke into a show. The stable boy gave a crooked smile from having once been horse-kicked, while the cussed denounced the rodgering within. Neither stopped the other.
Caution, the hook is an earworm.