Come on! Shake!

I thought I had you pegged: On the prowl for men who look money. You’d find one, delight his eye. He’d bite, you’d pull the reel in. He’d buy a round of drinks. All your friends would blink in envy.
Instead, you headed straight for me, dragged me gratefully to the floor, and said: “Let’s see you shake!”

Look, I’d believe this if you came here more on your own accord. Not just to win a bet with yourself. Or a ring. Not just to seize the tension, or be adored.
See, at 19, to be a wiser boy, I hid beneath the radar’s range. I met sisters who, with hearts destroyed, made all men look like drunk John Waynes.
Since no cries of ecstasy have convinced me, I’ve no idea what it’s gonna take to change this mindset I’ve had ever since and can’t seem to shake.
Come on! Shake!

And you replied: “Hell, let’s both unzip our souls, and run through fields with the goat-hoofed gods, and swim, all star-lit, in lonesome lakes.”
And I said “Right! How long you think the ride there’s gonna take?”
Come on! Shake!

Shake up. Shake down. Shake up. Shake down. Shake...somehow.