Spirit in the Night
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- 4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)
| Bruce Springsteen
Spirit in the Night The night was dark. The moon was young. And leaves came tumbling down. Crazy Janey and her mission man were back in the alley trading hands. Along came Wild Billy with his friend G-man, all duded up for Saturday night. Well Billy slammed on his coaster brakes and said, "Anybody wanna go on up to Greasy Lake? It's about a mile down on the dark side of route eighty-eight. I got a bottle of Rosé so let's try it. We'll pick up Hazy Davy and Killer Joe and I'll take you all out to where the gypsy angels go. They're built like light, and they dance like spirits in the night. Oh, you don't know what they can do to you, spirits in the night. Stand right up now and let them shoot through you." Well now Wild young Billy was a crazy cat, and he shook some dust out of his coonskin cap. He said, "Trust some of this; it'll show you where you're at, or at least it'll help you really feel it." By the time we made it up to Greasy Lake, I had my head out the window and Janey's fingers were in the cake. I think I really dug her `cause I was too loose to fake. I said, "I'm hurt." She said, "Honey, let me heal it." And we danced all night to a soul fairy band, and she kissed me just right, like only a lonely angel can. She felt so nice, just as soft as a spirit in the night. Janey don't know what she do to you. Stand right up and let her shoot through me. Now the night was bright and the stars threw light on Billy and Davy dancing in the moonlight. They were down near the water in a stone mud fight. Killer Joe gone passed out on the lawn. Well now, Hazy Davy got really hurt; he ran into the lake in just his socks and a shirt. Me and Crazy Janey was making love in the dirt, singing our birthday songs. Janey said it was time to go, so we closed our eyes and said goodbye to gypsy angel row. Felt so right. Together we moved like spirits in the night, all night. Baby, don't know what they can do to you. Stand right up and let it shoot right through you.
Sandy, the fireworks are hailing over Little Eden tonight,
Sandy, the aurora is rising behind us. The pier lights our carnival life forever. Love me tonight, for I may never see you again. Now the greasers tramp the streets, or get busted for trying to sleep on the beach all night. Them boys in their spiked high heels, ah, Sandy, their skins are so white. And me, I just got tired of hanging in them dusty arcades, banging them pleasure machines, chasing the factory girls underneath the boardwalk, where they promise to unsnap their jeans. And you know that tilt-a-whirl down on the south beach drag, I got on it last night and my shirt got caught, and that Joey kept me spinning—I didn't think I'd ever get off. Oh Sandy, the aurora is rising behind us. The pier lights our carnival life on the water. Running down the beach at night with my boss's daughter; well he ain't my boss no more, Sandy. Sandy, the angels have lost our desire for us. I spoke to them just last night, and they said they won't set themselves on fire for us anymore. Every summer when the weather gets hot, they ride that road down from heaven, on their Harleys they come and they go. And you can see them dressed like stars, in all the cheap little seashore bars, parked, making love with their babies, out on the Kokomo. Well the cops finally busted Madame Marie for telling fortunes better than they do. This boardwalk life for me is through. You know you ought to quit this scene too. Sandy the aurora's rising behind us, the pier lights our carnival life forever. Oh love me tonight, and I promise I'll love you forever.
The ragamuffin Gunner is returning home like a hungry runaway.
That pure American brother, dull-eyed and empty-faced, Races Sundays in Jersey in a Chevy, stock super eight. He rides `er low on the hip. On the side he's got Bound For Glory in red, white and blue flash paint. He leans on the hood telling racing stories; the kids call him Jimmy The Saint. Well the blaze and noise boy, he's gunning that bitch loaded to blasting point. He rides head first into a hurricane and disappears into a point. And there's nothing left but some blood where the body fell. That is, nothing left that you could sell. Just junk all across the horizon, a real highwayman's farewell. And he said, "Hey kid, you think that's oil? Man, that ain't oil—that's blood." I wonder what he was thinking when he hit that storm, Or was he just lost in the flood? Eighth Avenue sailors in satin shirts whisper in the air. Some storefront incarnation of Maria, she's puttin' on me the stare. And Bronx's best apostle stands with his hand on his own hardware. Everything stops, you hear five quick shots; the cops come up for air, And now the whiz-bang gang from uptown, they're shootin' up the street. And that cat from the Bronx starts letting loose but he gets blown right off his feet. And some kid comes blasting round the corner but a cop puts him right away. He lays on the street, holding his leg, screaming something in Spanish, Still breathing when I walked away. And somebody said, "Hey man did you see that? His body hit the street with such a beautiful thud." I wonder what the dude was sayin' or was he just lost in the flood? Hey man, did you see that, those poor cats are sure messed up. I wonder what they were gettin' into, or were they just lost in the flood? Incident on 57th Street Spanish Johnny drove in from the underworld last night With bruised arms and broken rhythm in a beat-up old Buick, But dressed just like dynamite. He tried selling his heart to the hard girls over on Easy Street, But they sighed, "Johnny, it falls apart so easy and you know hearts these days are cheap." And the pimps swung their axes and said, "Johnny you're a cheater." Well the pimps swung their axes and said, "Johnny you're a liar." And from out of the shadows came a young girl's voice, said: "Johnny don't cry." Puerto Rican Jane, oh won't you tell me what's your name. I want to drive you down to the other side of town where paradise ain't so crowded. There'll be action goin' down on Shanty Lane tonight. All them golden-heeled fairies in a real bitch fight, Pull .38s and kiss the girls good night. Oh good night, it's alright Jane. Now let them black boys in to light the soul flame. We may find it out on the street tonight baby, Or we may walk until the daylight maybe. Well, like a cool Romeo he made his moves, oh she looked so fine. Like a late Juliet she knew he'd never be true, but then she really didn't mind Upstairs, a band was playing, the singer was singing something about going home. She whispered, "Spanish Johnny, you can leave me tonight, but just don't leave me alone" And Johnny cried, "Puerto Rican Jane, word is down the cops have found the vein." Oh them barefoot boys left their homes for the woods . Them little barefoot street boys, they say home ain't no good. They left the corners, threw away all their switchblade knives and kissed each other good-bye. Johnny was sitting on the fire escape, watching the kids playing down the street. He called down, "Hey little heroes, summer's long, but I guess it ain't very sweet around here anymore." Janey sleeps in sheets damp with sweat, Johnny sits up alone and watches her dream on, dream on. And the sister prays for lost souls, then breaks down in the chapel, after everyone's gone. Jane moves over to share her pillow, but opens her eyes to see Johnny, up and putting his clothes on. She says, "Those romantic young boys, all they ever want to do is fight." Those romantic young boys, they're callin' through the window: "Hey Spanish Johnny, you want to make a little easy money tonight?" And Johnny whispers: "Good night, it's all right Jane." I'll meet you tomorrow night on Lover's Lane. We may find it out on the street tonight, Or we may walk until the daylight maybe."
One soft infested summer, me and Terry became friends,
Slow dancing in the dark on the beach at Stockton's Wing, Where desperate lovers park, we sat with the last of the Duke Street Kings, Huddled in our cars waiting for the bells that ring In the deep heart of the night, to set us loose from everything— To go running on the backstreets. We swore we'd live forever on the backstreets; we take it together. Endless juke joints and Valentino drag where dancers scraped the tears Up off the street dressed down in rags, running into the darkness. Some hurt bad, some really dying at night. Sometimes it seemed You could hear the whole damn city crying. Blame it on the lies that killed us, blame it on the truth that ran us down. You can blame it all on me, Terry. It don't matter to me now. When the breakdown hit at midnight, there was nothing left to say, but I hated him, and I hated you when you went away. Laying here in the dark, you're like an angel on my chest, Just another tramp of hearts crying tears of faithlessness. Remember all the movies, Terry, we'd go see, Trying to learn how to walk like heroes we thought we had to be. And after all this time to find we're just like all the rest, Stranded in the park and forced to confess— To hiding on the backstreets. We swore forever, friends on the backstreets until the end. Jungleland The rangers had a homecoming in Harlem late last night, And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine over the Jersey state line. Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge, Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain. The Rat pulls into town, rolls up his pants; Together they take a stab at romance and disappear down Flamingo Lane. Well, the Maximum Lawman run down Flamingo, chasing the Rat and the barefoot girl. And the kids round here look just like shadows: always quiet, holding hands. From the churches to the jails tonight, all is silence in the world, As we take our stand down in Jungleland. The midnight gang's assembled and picked a rendezvous for the night. They'll meet beneath that giant Exxon sign that brings this fair city light. Man, there's an opera out on the Turnpike. There's a ballet being fought out in the alley, Until the local cops, Cherry Tops, rip this holy night. The street's alive as secret debts are paid, Contacts made, they vanish unseen. Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades, hustling for the record machine. The hungry and the hunted explode into rock'n'roll bands That face off against each other Out in the street, down in Jungleland. In the parking lot the visionaries dress in the latest rage. Inside the backstreet, girls are dancing to the records that the D.J. plays. Lonely-hearted lovers struggle in dark corners, Desperate as the night moves on, just a look and a whisper, and they're gone. Beneath the city two hearts beat. Soul engines running through a night so tender, in a bedroom locked In whispers of soft refusal. And then surrender in the tunnels uptown— The Rat's own dream guns him down, as shots echo down them hallways in the night. No one watches when the ambulance pulls away, Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light. Outside, the street's on fire in a real death waltz Between what's flesh and what's fantasy. And the poets down here don't write nothing at all; they just stand back and let it all be. And in the quick of the night they reach for their moment, And try to make an honest stand. But they wind up wounded, not even dead, tonight in Jungleland. Frankie Dark weekends in the sun out on Chelsea Road, Descending the stairs, Frankie, my one, Check your makeup in the mirror; c'mon babe, let's go. We'll dance around this dirty town 'til the night is all done. Let all the finer things sleep alone tonight. Let all the minor kings lose their thrones tonight. Don't worry about us, baby, we'll be alright. Well everybody's dying, this town's closing down. They're all sitting down at the courthouse, waiting for them to take the flag down. I see strange flashes in the sky up above; Gonna spend the night at the drive-in with the one that I love. At dusk the stars all appear on the screen, Yeah, just like they do each night in my dreams. But tonight's no dream, Frankie, I can feel myself too. Well now and forever my love is for you. Walk softly tonight little stranger. Yeah, into these shadows we're passing through. Talk softly tonight, little angel; You make all my dream worlds come true. Well lately I've been standing out in the freezing rain, Readin' them want ads out on Chelsea Road. I'm winging down the street in search of new games, Hustling through these nightlights' diamond glow. Well, Frankie, I don't know what I'm gonna find; Maybe nothing at all, maybe a world I can call mine, Shining like these streetlights down here on the strand, Bright as the rain in the palm of your hand. Walk softly tonight, little stranger, Into the shadows where lovers go. Talk softly to me, little angel, Whisper your secrets so soft and low. Racing in the Streets I got a sixty-nine Chevy with a 396, Fuelie heads and a Hurst on the floor. She's waiting tonight down in the parking lot, Outside the Seven-Eleven store. Me and my partner Sonny built her straight out of scratch, And he rides with me from town to town. We only run for the money, got no strings attached. We shut 'em up and then we shut 'em down. Tonight, tonight, the strip's just right. I wanna blow 'em off in my first heat. Summer's here and the time is right For going racing in the street. We take all the action we can meet, And we cover all the northeast state. When the strip shuts down, we run 'em in the street From the fire roads to the interstate. Some guys—they just give up living And start dying little by little, piece by piece. Some guys come home from work and wash up, And go racing in the street. Tonight, tonight the strip's just right. I wanna blow 'em all out of their seats. Calling out around the world, we're going racing in the street. I met her on the strip three years ago, In a Camaro with this dude from L.A. I blew that Camaro off my back and drove that little girl away. But now there's wrinkles around my baby's eyes, And she cries herself to sleep at night. When I come home the house is dark. She sighs, "Baby did you make it all right?" She sits on the porch of her daddy's house, But all her pretty dreams are torn. She stares off alone into the night With the eyes of one who hates for just being born. For all the shut down strangers and hot rod angels Rumbling through this promised land, Tonight my baby and me we're gonna ride to the sea, And wash these sins off our hands. Tonight, tonight the highway's bright. Out of our way mister you best keep. 'Cause summer's here and the time is right For goin' racin' in the street. Born to Run In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway American dream. At night, we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines. Sprung from cages out on Highway 9, Chrome-wheeled, fuel-injected, and steppin' out over the line. Baby this town rips the bones from your back, It's a death trap, it's a suicide rap. We gotta get out while we're young, 'Cause tramps like us, baby we were born to run. Wendy, let me in, I wanna be your friend. I want to guard your dreams and visions. Just wrap your legs around these velvet rims and strap your hands across my engines. Together we could break this trap. We'll run till we drop, baby we'll never go back. Will you walk with me out on the wire? 'Cause baby I'm just a scared and lonely rider, But I gotta find out how it feels. I want to know if love is wild, Girl, I want to know if love is real. Beyond the Palace, hemi-powered drones Scream down the boulevard. The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors, And the boys try to look so hard. The amusement park rises bold and stark; Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist. I wanna die with you, Wendy, on the streets tonight In an everlasting kiss. The highway's jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive. Everybody's out on the run tonight, But there's no place left to hide. Together, Wendy, we'll live with the sadness. I'll love you with all the madness in my soul. Someday, girl, I don't know when, we're gonna get to that place Where we really want to go, And then we'll walk in the sun. But till then—tramps like us, baby, we were born to run. Adam Raised A Cain In the summer that I was baptized my father held me to his side. As they put me to the water, he said how on that day I cried. We were prisoners of love, a love in chains. He was standing in the door, I was standing in the rain With the same hot blood burning in our veins. Adam raised a Cain. All of the old faces ask you why you're back. They fit you with position and the keys to your daddy's Cadillac. In the darkness of your room, your mother calls you by your true name. You remember the faces, the places, the names. You know it's never over; it's relentless as the rain. Adam raised a Cain. In the Bible Cain slew Abel and East of Eden he was cast. You're born into this life paying for the sins of somebody else's past. Daddy worked his whole life for nothing but the pain. Now he walks these empty rooms looking for something to blame. You inherit the sins, you inherit the flames. Adam raised a Cain. Promised Land On a rattlesnake speedway in the Utah desert, I pick up my money and head back into town. Driving cross the Waynesboro county line, I got the radio on and I'm just killing time. Working all day in my daddy's garage, Driving all night, chasing some mirage. Pretty soon, little girl, I'm gonna take charge. The dogs on Main Street howl, because they understand. If I could take one moment into my hands... Mister, I ain't a boy; no, I'm a man. And I believe in a promised land. I've done my best to live the right way. I get up every morning and go to work each day. But your eyes go blind and your blood runs cold. Sometimes I feel so weak I just want to explode, Explode, and tear this whole town apart; Take a knife and cut this pain from my heart, Find somebody itching for something to start. There's a dark cloud rising from the desert floor. I packed my bags and I'm heading straight into the storm. Gonna be a twister to blow everything down That ain't got the faith to stand its own ground. Blow away the dreams that tear you apart. Blow away the dreams that break your heart. Blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and brokenhearted. The dogs on Main Street howl, because they understand. If I could take one moment into my hands... Mister, I ain't a boy; no, I'm a man. And I believe in a promised land. Thunder Road The screen door slams; Mary's dress waves. Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio play. Roy Orbison singing for the lonely; hey that's me and I want you only. Don't turn me home again. I just can't face myself alone again. Don't run back inside—darling you know just what I'm here for. So you're scared and you're thinking that maybe we ain't that young anymore? Show a little faith, there's magic in the night. You ain't a beauty, but, hey, you're alright. And that's alright with me. You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain, Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain, Waste your summer praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets. Well now, I'm no hero, that's understood. All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood With a chance to make it good somehow. Hey, what else can we do now?... Except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair. Well the night's busting open, these two lanes will take us anywhere. We got one last chance to make it real; to trade in these wings on some wheels. Climb in back, heaven's waiting on down the tracks. Oh come take my hand, we’re riding out tonight to case the promised land. Thunder Road, lying out there like a killer in the sun. Hey, I know we can make it if we run. Well I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk. And my car's out back if you're ready to take that long walk From your front porch to my front seat. The door's open, but the ride it ain't free. And I know you're lonely for words that I ain't spoken, But tonight we'll be free, all the promises'll be broken. There were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away. They haunt this dusty beach road in the skeleton frames of burned-out Chevrolets. They scream your name at night in the street. Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet. And in the lonely cool before dawn, you hear their engines roaring on. But when you get to the porch—they're gone on the wind. So Mary climb in. It's a town full of losers, And I'm pulling out of here to win. Factory Early in the morning, factory whistle blows, Man rises from bed and puts on his clothes. Man takes his lunch, walks out in the morning light. It's the working, just the working life. Through the mansions of fear, through the mansions of pain, I see my daddy walking through them factory gates in the rain, Factory takes his hearing, factory gives him life. The working, just the working life. End of the day, factory whistle cries, Men walk through these gates with death in their eyes. And you just better believe, boy, somebody's gonna get hurt tonight. It's the working, just the working life. Independence Day Well Papa go to bed now, it's getting late. Nothing we can say is gonna change anything now. I'll be leaving in the morning from St. Mary's Gate. We wouldn't change this thing even if we could somehow, Cause the darkness of this house has got the best of us. There's a darkness in this town that's got us too. But they can't touch me now. And you can't touch me now. They ain't gonna do to me What I watched them do to you. So say goodbye, it's Independence Day. It's Independence Day all down the line.. Now I don't know what it always was with us. We chose the words, and yeah, we drew the lines. There was just no way this house could hold the two of us. I guess that we were just too much of the same kind. Well say goodbye, it's Independence Day, all boys must run away. Say goodbye, all men must make their way. Now the rooms are all empty down at Frankie's joint, And the highway she's deserted clear down to Breaker's Point. There's a lot of people leaving town now, leaving their friends, their homes. At night they walk that dark and dusty highway all alone. Well Papa go to bed now, it's getting late. Nothing we can say can change anything now. Because there's just different people coming down here now, And they see things in different ways, And soon everything we've known will just be swept away. So say goodbye, it's Independence Day. Papa, now I know the things you wanted that you could not say. I swear I never meant to take those things away.
Born down in a dead man's town.
Born in the U.S.A. I was born in the U.S.A. Got in a little hometown jam,
Born in the U.S.A. I was born in the U.S.A. Come back home to the refinery:
I had a brother at Khe Sahn, fighting off the Viet Cong. They're still there. He's all gone. He had a woman he loved in Saigon. I got a picture of him in her arms. Down in the shadow of the penitentiary, Out by the gas fires of the refinery, I'm ten years burning down the road, Nowhere to run; ain't got nowhere to go. Born in the U.S.A. I was born in the U.S.A. I'm a cool rocking Daddy in the U.S.A. The River I come from down in the valley where, mister, when you're young, They bring you up to do just like your daddy done. Me and Mary we met in high school, when she was just seventeen. We'd ride out of that valley, down to where the fields were green. We'd go down to the river, and into the river we'd dive. Then I got Mary pregnant, and man that was all she wrote.
That night we went down to the river, and into the river we'd dive. I got a job working construction for the Johnstown Company,
But I remember us riding in my brother's car, Her body tan and wet down at the reservoir. At night on them banks I'd lie awake And pull her close just to feel each breath she'd take. Now those memories come back to haunt me; they haunt me like a curse. Is a dream a lie if it don't come true, or is it something worse? That sends me down to the river, though I know the river is dry. That sends me down to the river tonight. Nebraska I saw her standing on her front lawn, just a'twirling her baton. Me and her went for a ride, sir, and ten innocent people died. From the town of Lincoln, Nebraska, with a sawed off .410 on my lap, Through the badlands of Wyoming, I killed everything in my path. I can't say that I'm sorry for the things that we done. At least for a little while, sir, me and her we had us some fun. The jury brought in a guilty verdict, and the judge he sentenced me to death, Midnight in a prison storeroom with leather straps across my chest. Sheriff, when the man pulls that switch, sir, and snaps my poor head back: You make sure my pretty baby is sittin' right there on my lap. They declared me unfit to live; said into that great void my soul'd be hurled. They wanted to know why I did what I did; Well, sir, I guess there's just a meanness in this world. Highway Patrolman My name is Joe Roberts; I work for the state. I'm a sergeant out of Perrineville, barracks number 8. I always done an honest job, as honest as I could. I got a brother named Franky, and Franky ain't no good. Now ever since we was young kids, it's been the same come down. I get a call over the radio— Franky's in trouble downtown. Well if it was any other man, I'd put him straight away, But when it's your brother, sometimes you look the other way. Me and Franky laughin' and drinking. Nothing feels better than blood on blood. Taking turns dancing with Maria, as the band played "Night of the Johnstown Flood." I catch him when he's straying, like any brother would. Man turns his back on his family, well, he just ain't no good. Well Franky went in the army back in 1965. I got a farm deferment, settled down, took Maria for my wife. But them wheat prices kept on dropping, till it was like we were getting robbed. Franky came home in '68, and me, I took this job. Yea we're laughing and drinking. Nothing feels better than blood on blood. Taking turns dancing with Maria, as the band played "Night of the Johnstown Flood." I catch him when he's straying, teach him how to walk that line. Man turns his back on his family, he ain't no friend of mine. Well the night was like any other; I got a call about quarter to nine. There was trouble in a roadhouse out on the Michigan line. There was a kid lying on the floor, looking bad, bleeding hard from his head. There was a girl cryin' at a table, and it was Frank, they said. Well I went out and I jumped in my car, and I hit the lights. Well I must have done a hundred and ten through Michigan county that night. It was out at the crossroads, down round Willow Bank. Seen a Buick with Ohio plates; behind the wheel was Frank. Well I chased him through them county roads, till a sign said, "Canadian border five miles from here." I pulled over the side of the highway, and watched his taillights disappear. Me and Franky laughing and drinking. Nothing feels better than blood on blood. Taking turns dancing with Maria as the band played "Night of the Johnstown Flood." I catch him when he's straying, like any brother would. Man turns his back on his family, well, he just ain't no good. Hometown I was eight years old and running with a dime in my hand, Into the bus stop to pick up a paper for my old man. I'd sit on his lap in that big old Buick, and steer as we drove through town. He'd tousle my hair and say, "Son, take a good look around. This is your hometown." In '65 tension was running high at my high school. There was a lot of fights between the black and white; There was nothing you could do. Two cars at a light on a Saturday night— in the back seat there was a gun. Words were passed, a shotgun blast; troubled times had come To my hometown. Now Main Street's whitewashed windows and vacant stores. Seems like there ain't nobody wants to come down here no more. They're closing down the textile mill across the railroad tracks; Foreman says these jobs are going, boys, and they ain't coming back To your hometown. Last night me and Kate, we laid in bed, talking about getting out; Packing up our bags—maybe heading south. I'm thirty-five; we got a boy of our own now. Last night I sat him up behind the wheel, and said, "Son, take a good look around. This is your hometown." Atlantic City Well, they blew up the chicken man in Philly last night. Now they blew up his house too. Down on the boardwalk they're gettin' ready for a fight; Gonna see what them racket boys can do. Now there's trouble busin' in from outta state, And the D.A. can't get no relief. Gonna be a rumble out on the promenade, and the gamblin' commission's Hangin' on by the skin of its teeth. Well now everything dies, baby, that's a fact. But maybe everything that dies someday comes back. Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty, And meet me tonight in Atlantic City. Well, I got a job and tried to put my money away, But I got debts that no honest man can pay. So I drew what I had from the Central Trust, And I bought us two tickets on that Coast City bus. Now our luck may have died and our love may be cold, But with you forever I'll stay. We're going out where the sand's turning to gold, So put on your stockings, baby, 'cause the night's getting cold. And everything dies, baby, that's a fact. But maybe everything that dies someday comes back. Now I been looking for a job, but it's hard to find. Down here it's just winners and losers, and don't get caught On the wrong side of that line. Well, I'm tired of coming out on the losing end, So honey last night I met this guy And I'm gonna do a little favor for him. Well I guess everything dies, baby, that's a fact. But maybe everything that dies someday comes back. Put your hair up nice and set up pretty, and meet me tonight in Atlantic City. Used Cars My little sister's in the front seat with an ice cream cone. My ma's in the black seat sittin' all alone. As my pa steers her slow out of the lot For a test drive down Michigan Avenue. Now, my ma, she fingers her wedding band And watches the salesman stare at my old man's hands. He's tellin' us all about the break he'd give us if he could, but he just can't. Well if I could, I swear I know just what I'd do. Now, mister, the day the lottery I win, I ain't ever gonna ride in no used car again. Now, the neighbors come from near and far As we pull up in our brand new used car. I wish he'd just hit the gas and let out a cry and tell 'em all they can kiss our asses goodbye. My dad, he sweats the same job from mornin' to morn. Me, I walk home on the same dirty streets where I was born. Up the block I can hear my little sister in the front seat blowin' that horn, The sounds echoin' all down Michigan Avenue. Now, mister, the day my numbers comes in, I ain't ever gonna ride in no used car again. Directory: pubweb -> ~cinichol ~cinichol -> Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? by Joyce Carol Oats ~cinichol -> Letter from a Birmingham Jail ~cinichol -> Additional Poems by Elizabeth Bishop to supplement Download 57.61 Kb. Share with your friends:
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