I'm feelin mean and can't get tha articulation squared and flushed for this human homicidal fracking. I'm gonna frack you Mr. Trace Adkins.

My friend Gail really sums up this burly big man with unrestrained poetic essence:

I LIKE trace Adkins he is so sweet man every I LIKE his soung he made I LIKE party soung every body LOVE him he is so tall man every and he big man every

It all started before he was born. It's been an uphill fight. He took it up a notch in tha frozen sloth of a month called January. Been a hell of a winter everywhere. Mr. Adkins took a cruise on a cruise ship. He was cruisin for a bruisin. He punched up some sucker, though it turns out it was just some sucker.

Trace Adkins got in a big ugly knock down brawl with himself. He saw a Trace Adkins impersonator singing the ole Karaoke. Trace Adkins shape shifted into the burly demon bull and attacked and attacked and attacked. The sunset was splotching all red over the ocean as well as nicely melting with tha blood on that dance floor.

Rhonda is his third wife and she ain't putting up with his shitty bull badonkadonk.

I will say Death is a blind goat who keeps on missing that fat piñata called Trace Adkins.

Trace Adkins is getting a divorce. He's tryin to be a country singer. I think it's too late. I believe the game's up. Bingo's been called. Adkins DID NOT WIN. He didn't even lose.

Trace Adkins is of Irish and English descent. He is a big burly man who had a big burly part in that stupid country music style I have described as cynical Utopian Country Music.

Imagine that, a country music star gets divorced.

It won't kill him.

Trace Adkins is gettin divorced from his Grandma. His grandmother slapped him. A pigeon with a rat tail flew out of her cunt.

Anyone as cynical as Trace Adkins deserves a spear up his ass. Anyone who writes or interprets such awful music such as Trace Adkins also deserves to be absolutely left alone. He should be deemed non redeemable and told to go in the woods. Does the man cry?

Yes, the man cries. I should leave him alone. He is a real human being.

"Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" is some kinda ode to geriatric sex. Gettin slapped by your grandma is some sort of secret code for hillbilly anal sex involving she thang males and dyke patrols. Trace Adkins has cut off his thumb in the proverbial closet and has stuck it up some 19 year old girl's lubed asshole.

Let tha Louisiana home town sign that says "WELCOME TO SAREPTA HOME OF TRACE ADKINS" evaporate.

Once Trace Adkins worked on an oil rig. The black blood of the earth. Once Trace Adkins hand and pinky got divorced. Some say it was an accident. The pinky finger cut itself off the Adkin's hand. Doctors incarcerated the pinky by re attaching the little filthy betrayer back to the meaty Trace Adkins hand.

I cannot understand the philosophical implications of Trace Adkins. What he has to do with Post structuralism or Existentialism. He sings like the digitized hillbilly he is. He sings about girls from the city who studied ballerina who grow up in the big ole city who just wanna fuck boys in camouflaged paints.

He sings about Hank Williams Jr. How a girl might yell turn that up when she's getting freed from the stratifications of the big ole city. Hank Williams Jr. once upon a time would have Adkins' head on a stick.

Trace Adkins is a digital hillbilly. Trace Adkins is entertaining us. Skewering the man gives me no lovely joy of the heart.

Trace Adkins represents the cliché of the post twentieth century country music singer. He fakes being a hillbilly. He has a great song about the marines called "Semper Fi." He sings about devil dogs and jar heads. He sings about the glory of not having any bullet holes in the SUV cause the kid next door did the killing for all of us. Trace Adkins is very good at corny sentimentality, so good it turns into soft core porn.

Adkins just got out of rehab this January. He took a few weeks off of rehab to see his father die. What are your drugs of choice Adkins? Whiskey Cocaine PCP OxYcodone? PCP popsicles?

Some nitwit at the Grand Ole Opry recently saw Mr. Adkins there. He said of him: "looked like a million bucks. He has lost weight. He's toned up. He was smiling. Trace Adkins was smiling and grinning from ear to ear." The whole world is impressed. My apathy concerning skewering you Mr. Adkins is almost impressed. I have a very clear picture of you in my mind's substance soddened eyes.

You are not to get custody of your kids. Could you tell me about this Mr. Adkins?

He's tryin to be a country singer.

Badonkadonk BLuEs busted up (For Trace Adkins)

how's she even get them britches on them steamy pork chops
LORd helP donkeY kong
and slap grandma's ass.
You know that right? You know that feelin.
when tha weasels walketh backwards with all tha good and bad whiskeY

So badonkadonk
keep perfect timin and rhymin
to tha right to tha left and speared pencil up tha ass

pigeon with a rat tail kong
alright burlY boys--talkin CAPITAL ASS SLAPPIN DIVORCE

make ya wonder how she got divorced from his grandma.
throwin darts at tha tonk tonk badonkadonk
ooo that's on
like donkey style

ugly stringed tonk boys this is a tall heap of donkey shit
donkey kong took a shit

its honky tonk beer records. Fake SUV BULLET HOLEs

you are not as clever as Toby Keith

(End)




Part Two

boys, you better keep your girlfriend utopian country badonkadonk
yeah, that it ain't his bones but you can't touch
that honkey alone. he honky tonk badonkadonk

that honky tonk mercy, deserves to be even get them britches on
that music.

imagine it good badonkadonk
(aww she comes
left left left tall
here she love to watch her kong
and loud
she might get up and ya workin' that whoo-wee
shut my mouth, slap your human if we play it good his grandmother slapped him. play she even get them britches on
with and is a chair
poor ole boy, non along
got it goin' on
like tonk drinkin'
barely grandma
there outta be country music left she gets the urge to dance
drivin' two
but we're be distance
you can look us all
ol' t.w.'s right real money-maker
band shuts down at go
but put her law
get the sheriff on the phone
lord fault
it's so her beer down
here she comes




PART THREE

yes, the man badonkadonk
keepin' perfect rhythm
make ya wanna swing wanna swing along
got it goin' and loud
she might get honky tonk think beer down
here she comes
here gettin being.

her
for up and dance again
ooh, she put cunt.

instruments play ugly things

black clouds of blood