A man married at twenty-one, widowed with three children—Isaiah, Charlotte, and Dawn—chants his way through a dark monologue about freedom, violence, and loss. He burns things, defeats enemies, and repeats "all right" like a spell, mixing family history with brutal imagery in a bleak, rhythmic rant.
Even if something suspiciously chemical is burning right in front of us. I had entered into a marriage in the summer of my 21st year, and the bells rang for our wedding. Only now do I remember it clear. All right, all right, all right. A rake and no more a bachelor. I was wedded and it went in my face until her womb started spilling out babies. Only then did I reckon my career's all right, all right, all right, all right, all right, all right. First came Isaiah and his crinkled little finger. Then came Charlotte and her wretched girl Dawn. I believe my fans knew the guy not deliberately. They're simply taking Grandmother all along. Alright, alright, alright. What can one do when one is a widower? She mollycoddled me. With me, little pest. All that I wanted was the freedom of a new life, so my burden I began to die. That's all right, all right, all right, all right, all right, all right. Woo! Yeah! Charlotte shot Barry Duff defeating a fox pup. Dawn was easy, she was roundin' up bad. Isaiah Fudd, but was easily bested. Burned his body for incurring my wrath. Alright! Alright! Alright! Yeah! Cheers!
