If you brought him a twelve pack
he'd gladly tattoo you in his garage
while he drank all of said twelve pack
Mine's fading on my ankle
somehow managing to be even bigger of an eyesore
I'm not even sure what it was supposed to be anymore
Most people only went to him once
and most of those people were under the ago of eighteen
stick and pokes while sitting on a 90's style lawn chair
It hurt like hell and healed like shit
A couple kids I knew even got infected
but it was a right of passage for the juvenile delinquents of our tiny town
He'd try and sell us bad weed
after the ink had been pressed too deep into the skin
and most of us were just desperate enough
I don't know what happened to him
and sometimes I wonder if he's still sitting in his garage
trading scratch tattoos for a twelve pack of cheap beer