circe of the seven-plys

I like them thick, what can I say,
Nice and wide, with a big old tail,
Big fat juicy wheels, 60’s at least,
Nice and grippy and super soft,
I’m starting to drool just imagining,
All the things I could do,
Lay that baby down on something smooth,
Cruising along the hips,
Bushed concrete better than satin,
Gotta get me some, just a taste,
Feel the cool breeze on my face.
Man, how wide is that wheelbase,
That’s just insane, didn’t know they came that way,
Don’t mean to covet my brethren’s ride,
I’ve just never seen anything that wide,
Holmes, your set-up is so fine,
I wish I could push and carve and fly high,
On that beautiful board all of the time,
Maybe I could just take her for a spin,
I swear I’ll bring her back without a nick,
A ride like that is something I gotta have,
This itch just won’t stop without a scratch.
She looks like she’s built for speed,
A piece of that is what I need,
I’ll try not to get too attached,
Play around a little, but won’t fall in love,
Even though you and I both know,
That I’m full of shit and I will just the same,
Try as I might, she’s stuck in my brain,
She’s got this old man sprung,
I’m even willing to share, just don’t care,
Wherever she goes, I’ll be there.
Brand new paint job looks so nice,
Wrapped in a swath of griptape,
Showing just enough, making me want,
Shiny metal trucks peeking from underneath,
Like a glimpse of something forbidden,
Big round wheels to carry me away,
Play your cards, let the chips fall where they may,
Enchanted and entranced and upside down,
Shapely and lovely, these seven plys of maple,
To the untrained eye nothing more than a board,
But to some of us old men it is so much more. . .