- 歌词
- 专辑列表
Kevin Gordon
-
Cajun with a K
This place is just concrete split with weeds,
Child's handprint imbedded, dated 1973.
They spell cajun with a K on the next door store sign,
Selling crawfish, cigarettes and fishing line.
And decay takes its own saccharine time.
That's the main drag dying down there under the overpass,
Where nobody goes but those with nowhere to land:
The drifting, the insane, an occasional
College rock band in search of a gritty urban vibe
for their promotional photograph,
Then they haul their asses right back to campus
Or the truly courageous
venture down to the Blue Diamond,
sit at the bar, while the regulars slap their dominoes
down on the gold-flecked formica. Then a certain type
of nervous fella leans in to your ear, with one eye
on your girl; she's the finest thing seen
come through these doors in years. He's asking:
“How much? How much?”
A few poets remain, the lucky locked in and tenured
over at the state college. Knowledge
is its own reward, but if one more alcoholic
wonders out loud why I'm not a millionaire
there's a fist for an answer.
Becky there at the register
wanted to be a dancer, ended up a cashier
instead. Don't let dreams go to your head,
Like spunk swimming up to the ovaries.
She had a kid with special needs, who
needs to be fed. How do you make
a living out of poetry, a payday from a plié?
Like diamonds from the mud in the riverbed.
I worked at a bar
更多更详尽歌词 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔镜歌词网
where all the divorcees would feed on each other,
blood-drunk piranhas
swimming in vodka and disco.
Where brother Alonzo was the parking valet.
He'd clock in at 4, start throwing down
Colorado bulldogs. Sitting out there in a folding chair
in a white tux shirt and a red bowtie,
weaving cars in and out between them yellow lines.
There's Johnny Carl, the DA, throwing up
in the parking lot again, down on his knees
beside his red Cadillac but he ain't no slack,
he'll be back in court tomorrow—
trying to send another poor boy
through those jailhouse doors.
You damn right he done it.
Before happy hour,
the waitresses were talking.
One of their boyfriends
got so pissed at her apparent dildo addiction
he grabbed the thing right out of her hands,
opened the apartment door,
threw it off the 3rd floor balcony.
Still humming.
A midnight pink silicone rocket,
landed on the August afternoon asphalt,
still humming.
Still humming . . .
Mama don't live here no more
Nobody knows Daddy's name
down at the liquor store
I got nothing saved
But my fear and my rage
If I had . . . if I had my way
-
|
