Knuckles

My knuckles look like coke and roses

The winter bit them hard; they cracked

I suck on them; they bleed their noses

I fear they are forever chapped

My knuckles look like milk and lipstick

All dressed in cream and Vaseline

I'm oiled up so says the dipstick

I use supreme silk gasoline

My knuckles look like wine and diamonds

I deck them out most everyday

They never mind the crime and violence

I keep them moist with Tanqueray

My knuckles look like snow and crowbar

They finally just had enough

I tried to run; I didn't go far

My knuckles, unlike me, are rough