Off-brand chips and bean soup, again Someone told me the skies here are blue Today my tea is grey. The commute Roars quiet, like an ostrich Like a gas top and saucepan.
I taste red beans on my tongue That I brought from my mother's house Back home I have a chicken. My wife My three daughters, my son The train is red, red and white
I will call them again, tonight. My knuckles are dry. My shoes are clean Lint-rolled suit, crisp tie Sharp and clean and white shirt White and my red, red beans.