He thought she was the most but he couldn't see
She was giving him the ghost
For a bit she was copping in Barrelsville
Yeah, it was later for him from the city of sin
Where she was making the scene with a cheap creep
Who had bread but no soco and no short
Just a uptown pad and a lot of juice
It was all he could do not to put knuckles to him then
He was on a short trip to Rio when he ran into his used-to-be lurking Like a vulture in a dive on 36th
Instead of dummying up he said "What's your tale, Nightingale?"
She gave him orbs then said "Shake it," as if he could do that
Yeah, he knew she'd been walking varicose alley for Washingtons
To pay for the bennies, dealing under the shuffle
To all the fat cats who now looked at her as if she was just
A big tickle out for bread
The idea hit that he had to play it cool, he was no graveyard
Not when it came to a far out chicken who was this tough
A shape in a drape on the brink at the vitamin village
A boss Chick, she had everything plus, smooth as moo goo
He bit down, trying not to show his bright disease
Had to keep his claws sharp, try not to look vacant
Even when she insisted he keep his hands above
The Mason-Dixon line (she wasn't unreal)
He really knew his groceries, so he wrote her a few ballads
But she saw him for the shuck he was,
Always trying to blast the Edison
But she couldn't fool him for a minute
It was as if he had x-ray eyes
His wisdom was old and he drove a real lead sled
Made sure nobody was going to rat him out
His philosophy was simple; everybody's got to keep moving
Can't live in the wasteland, gotta beat the gravel
He had already spent a yard, and was certainly ready
To pony up a few more
For the Daddy-o beatniks who were cooking at the bash
Where everybody was getting dixie-fried
The party could have been a serious hoover
But they threw babies off the balcony
And it all really went down a storm
Then a big hand fell on his shoulder and a booming voice
"Relax Clyde, it's Beatsville, everybody's in the groove
"Relax Clyde, it's Beatsville, everybody's in the groove
Don't be a wet rag, share that weed"
He coughed up a lung and continued,
"You'd been living the beat but now you're on the street"
He looked askew and then smiled meanwhile
"She's jungled up with some guy, an unreal big wheel
She's been running in twin trees, headed for crashville"
And he had to pause for a minute
To appreciate the insight
Then thought he might have a blast
Quail hunting at a Red Onion in nowheresville
After all, can't stand still and wait
For the next mushroom cloud
Better to scope for the room where the man from the moon
Was playing and slaying with the hot horn
It would be more for the galaxy to have radioactive gumdrops
Falling on all the beatniks
Falling on all the beatniks
Than to have to sit at home alone wondering what's
Buzzin' cuzzin'
And under his breath he said, "If you dig it man, that's crazy"
The next door neighbor though, he swore, said a little
Something more
Something more
Like, "She ain't much to look at but I'm telling you Mac
She's got ways like a mowing machine."
All he could think to reply was, "Ah man, ain't that a bite - don't you see you have to live for kicks"
Then he settled down, realized he had to noodle it out,
You know, think it over
Shut his trap, turn up his stereo and focus his audio
Don't go ape, maintain, no need to get bugged
And even if he felt he was just an actor with binoculars
So very slick with the King's jive, at least he was still alive
Never once, he said to himself, could a good man
Count on a word from the bird
Not once thinking that maybe that might apply to him as well
Bad news walking, weird with a beard, everybody wishing
He'd tune out
He'd tune out
It never once crossed his creased brow that maybe
People thought he was part of the fallen lot
After all, he's always here, a gin mill cowboy wearing a bent brummel
Or always hanging out like a Mazda
Though he makes his living as a pearl diver
In a greasy spoon
Where a blanket will cost you a thin one and that includes
A slurg
Trying hard to play big daddy that would give you the zorros
Or trying to make some cash by hanging paper
Telling tales that were incredibly lame, straight off the cob
Never taking the time to stop interviewing his brains
Yeah, no one should think that much
But he couldn't see how dirty his side of the street was
And as soon as he cut out
All the hipsters and the squares alike
Breathed a deep sigh of relief
But he hadn't ditched the scene, he only went to the flicks
To try to distract his head
But he wouldn't can his lip as he talked to himself in the dark
Despite
The Usher casting eyeballs his way
Despite
The Usher casting eyeballs his way
Too many thrill pills you see, could only cool it when his yap
Was stuffed with a tube steak
Was stuffed with a tube steak
Then a doll next to him asked, "Are you with it?
Or are you getting wigged out?"
He answer was trite, a quick & mean retort,
"Are you writing a book? Why are you asking questions-
As if there's no tomorrow?"
That was when he made his big mistake
Sure she was a baby, but wild, you see,
Known to blow the jets, kind of a nosebleed
Known to blow the jets, kind of a nosebleed
Just crazy man, crazy
She looked at him like he was on a flat
And she was a head shrinker
Like a beatkel down in whistleburg, trying too hard
To get his kicks, trying to hard to turn on
Oh, he had an axe, but you'd never find him grooving
He never learned to wail
Never baked any biscuits, just a quail hunting murgatroid
But she wasn't some unburnt slice of toast
Making the scene every night 'cause she's got an Angel
...with pockets, doesn't have to toil
Even has a couple of ankle biters
But he doesn't mind the yoots
He's got it made in the shade in his Madison avenue cave
Hired a few words to keep her ex-old man out of it
No need to put that bit down
But he's a sap for her apple butter
That's for the rat race and the squares
The whole want and drudgery of life
Still, he sighs deeply every once and awhile, thinking
"This world with all it's sunsets and milky ways is nothing-
But It's the only world we got."
And that was the real zonk on the head
