Dec 2017
I’m going down to *****, yes, that’s where I’m going to go—
I’m going to go see Jesus because I hear he puts on a real good show,
The blonde mothers are out in force,
I see them and their daughters reflected in the mirrored *****—
I’m going to rev up my time machine and take you back to school
Where the nuns run amok and Bettie gives me her juice,
I painted the walls with Gods, superheroes and naked women,
Drunk on red wine she’s upside down all the time—
I haven’t seen Angela for years—I wish she’d give me a call,
I hear she went to France where her psychic powers blossomed
And became a stripper at the Folies Bergere,
But I could be thinking of that Italian girl—
I wish I had Frances right now on the couch,
I’ve wanted Frances every day of my life—
But now I’m going down to ***** to throw the ***** litter away—
I don’t know where she puts it but I’ll let her keep that secret to herself,
She can turn my water into wine any time,
In her lipstick and lingerie she’s just the Savior this town needs,
She’s a blonde statue of all tomorrow’s mothers right about now,
Her stockings color match her eyes, she’s the hottest Jew I know
She’s got the right machinery to worship all night long—
I don’t think she’s a nun because she’s cold to the touch
I don’t think she’s a mother because I love her too much,
Give me a reason and I’ll swear off alcohol,
I’ll meet you down in ***** and we’ll have a ball—
You say Baudelaire and I’ll say Marconi,
Play your guitar so loud Asian Rockettes can hear
You all the way in high-tech Heaven
Where they bump and grind the night away—
And every star you want to see takes out their glasses and starts to read
Jackson Pollack was no poet but oh, if he were
We wouldn’t need Frank O’Hara or a telephone to get the job done
I looked in her mouth and then jumped right in—
She was **** on the outside but inside she was a real friend
She went to California just like her mother told her to
With a pocket full of placebos to hand out at the zoo—
The elephants took one look at her and cut off her head
Like Shiva cut off the head of Ganesh—the Mahabharata all came true
And a nickel in ***** gets what a nickel gets
We’re going down to ***** where mother’s on her back all the time—
Where a poet can speak English and doesn’t need to rhyme
I’ve got her head in a sack and I’m never coming back—
***** is my home and mother will never be alone again—
I’m going down to *****, yes, that’s where I’m going to go—
I’m going to go see Jesus because I hear he puts on a real good show,
The blonde mothers are out in force,
I see them and their daughters reflected in the mirrored *****—
I’m going to rev up my time machine and take you back to school
Where the nuns run amok and Bettie gives me her juice,
I painted the walls with Gods, superheroes and naked women,
Drunk on red wine she’s upside down all the time—
I haven’t seen Angela for years—I wish she’d give me a call,
I hear she went to France where her psychic powers blossomed
And became a stripper at the Folies Bergere,
But I could be thinking of that Italian girl—
I wish I had Frances right now on the couch,
I’ve wanted Frances every day of my life—
But now I’m going down to ***** to throw the ***** litter away—
I don’t know where she puts it but I’ll let her keep that secret to herself,
She can turn my water into wine any time,
In her lipstick and lingerie she’s just the Savior this town needs,
She’s a blonde statue of all tomorrow’s mothers right about now,
Her stockings color match her eyes, she’s the hottest Jew I know
She’s got the right machinery to worship all night long—
I don’t think she’s a nun because she’s cold to the touch
I don’t think she’s a mother because I love her too much,
Give me a reason and I’ll swear off alcohol,
I’ll meet you down in ***** and we’ll have a ball—
You say Baudelaire and I’ll say Marconi,
Play your guitar so loud Asian Rockettes can hear
You all the way in high-tech Heaven
Where they bump and grind the night away—
And every star you want to see takes out their glasses and starts to read
Jackson Pollack was no poet but oh, if he were
We wouldn’t need Frank O’Hara or a telephone to get the job done
I looked in her mouth and then jumped right in—
She was **** on the outside but inside she was a real friend
She went to California just like her mother told her to
With a pocket full of placebos to hand out at the zoo—
The elephants took one look at her and cut off her head
Like Shiva cut off the head of Ganesh—the Mahabharata all came true
And a nickel in ***** gets what a nickel gets
We’re going down to ***** where mother’s on her back all the time—
Where a poet can speak English and doesn’t need to rhyme
I’ve got her head in a sack and I’m never coming back—
***** is my home and mother will never be alone again—
I’m going down to *****, yes, that’s where I’m going to go—
