display | more...
Little Boy Blue is blowin’ his horn
Out there on the corner of 12th South and Broadway
Underneath the hissing, spitting sodium streetlight
Wailin’ away his sorrows for pocket change.
Pausing every now and then to look in the hat at the take,
Shake his head, and play on.

And I’m trying to tell them three little pigs
That, baby, straw and sticks really ain’t
Where you wanna be hangin’ your hat.
No, Leggos won’t work either
And damned if one of them didn’t actually hear me!
Whoda thunk any of them was listening?

And Little Red Riding Hood knows that she’s
A symbol of a society conspiring to
Keep the sexual goddess in all of us
Down beneath their Nikes
And what the brothas Grimm cut out
Was that little detour off the beaten path
Hand in hand with the Big Bad Wolf.

Little Jack Horner,
Sittin’ in the corner
Keepin’ his back to the wall.
Eyes shooting around with the paranoia
That marks some substance mere plums could never hope to imitate.

And damn it all to hell if Cinderella
Didn’t throw down her scrubbing brush
And tell her stepmom and sisters, and yes, Prince Charming too
Where they could stick it
And go clubbing with me to Industrial Night at the Voodoo Lounge

Didja know that the reason Ole Mother Hubbard
Had nothing in the cupboard was cause she spent it all
On rotgut hooch the night before?
And Momma Goose and Daddy Christian Anderson
Are taking me to task for snappin’ my polaroids
Of the Dish and the Spoon in their sordid little love nest.

And if I sell them to the tabloids, I wonder
Will Papa Christmas leave me briquets
In my fishnets this year?