Johnny Luke is spooked cuz good 'n plenty Jenny don't come around here no more He brings his camera to the open mic Wednesday night, he wanna get inside her drawers He's still using film and the kids are all laughing but they're so easy to ignore He peers inside the viewfinder but she never comes through the door Julia say she saw Jennifer corner of Albany and Steuben Jive icky bicky sticky sticky to the icky if she's tricky turning tricks again Jennifer swears she ain't been around town, she's been traveling all over the world You can take the girl out of Schenectady but you can't get it out of the girl Red and white blue neglige and six-inch high heel shoes If you see her, she's a runaway. She's the muse. Sweet delicious Jen, where the hell you been? I just can't drink you off my mind. It really hurts my head just thinking 'bout your legs, Your behind is almost as fine as mine. Jennifer I'm dying. Where have you been hidin'? I really wanna be your man. I know you really love me, more than just a junkie. More than just a one night stand. You're me. You're mine. Jesus say he saw Jennifer tryin' to wash sticky blood off her hands Lady Mac knick knack paddy whack same name try to blame it on her man Lady Mac? That's whack! Othello is her fellow. She's down with Desdemona, ya know. But if she sees her man with a pillow in his hands She'll take him out like Cleopatra Jones! Red and white blue neglige and six-inch high heel shoes If you see her, she's a runaway. She's the muse. Neglige by Betsy Ross and six-inch high heel shoes If you see her, she's lost. She's the muse. She's the muse. Radiator tatoos. We want our black music funky But Uncle Tom is just a junky Strung out in heaven's high...

My hole is warm and full of light. Yes it is full of light. There's no brighter spot in all of New York than this hole of mine. This does not exclude Broadway. Or the view from the Empire State These two spots are among the darkest in our so-called civilization... culture. I have one-thousand three-hundred sixty-nine lights There's only one radio I plan to have five Playing the same song at once to overcome the acoustical deadness Pour me some sloe gin Over vanilla ice cream As Louis bends his military instrument into a beam of lyrical sound I have one-thousand three-hundred sixty-nine lights So I fight Light & Power with light This is how the world moves. No arrow. No spiral. Prepare for the boomerang of history. Keep a steel helmet handy. Immature poets imitate. Mature poets steal. I stole that from Eliot. I stole it just to prove him wrong. I have one-thousand three-hundred sixty-nine lights Truth is light. Truth is light.

Baby I wanna kiss you Baby I'll be right with you As soon as I clean my hands I'll make you a man So sticky, my hands are so sticky. To undo my unsexing You must first undress me Do not hide your face Screw your courage to the sticking place So sticky the place is so sticky The Thane of Fife he had a wife But I'm the wife who gave Mac the knife Long live the king, the king is dead Come to bed, to bed, to bed Come to bed with me it's gettin' kinda sticky Come to bed now for the sticky to the icky My mama is gonna be proud Picture me wearing a crown Mama your sweet little, sweet little girl Is gonna be the queen of the whole damn world I'm the queen. I'm the queen. Look at me mama, I'm the queen. Look at me mama, my man is a man One little spot of blood on my hands I'm the queen. The hurly-burly's done The battle's lost and won. Long live the king he's dead But the seas have all gone red So sticky the blood is so sticky For want of my man to be the man Can't get this spot out my pretty hand All the per-fume in Arabia Ain't got no hope of savin' ya All the perfume in Babylon Ain't gonna make this stink be gone

They call me Uncle Sam Wilson' I used to live down on Ferry Street But now I spend all of my days in a grave on the hill And I look down on the town of today and it's scaring me The white girls from Troy are birthing black boys With names like Dashawn and Malik and Leroy I was born in 1776 That makes me 10 years more wise beyond the birth of a nation And ten years more surprised by all the miscegenation I was born in 1776 These days the white girls from Troy are birthing black boys With names like Dashawn and Malik and Leroy Fulfilling incentive for public assistance They wait for black daddies to get out of prison And a baby boy's wide eyes absorb the tv light He's watching R-rated movies up way past his bedtime In the next room his grandmama's dropping her n-bombs Each day he grows bigger and bigger He's getting too big for Troy. Maybe one day still he will rest on the hill Looking down on the town on the souls left to save On the souls of the damned as he rots in his grave Like his Uncle Sam They parade through the streets on a Sunday in September It's all in my name but they do not remember That the stars and the stripes on the flag that they wave Mean much more than they'd like and I turn in my grave The white girls from Troy are birthing black boys With names like Dashawn and Malik and Leroy I pray these white girls from Troy will one day give a damn Get back to birthing white boys. Maybe even name 'em Sam

It would be so perfect if she kicked his behind I knew that y'all would change your minds It would be so perfect if she kicked his behind And I'm kicking myself My red white and blue girl was just a tease I should have known. It would be so perfect if she kicked his behind You tried to sell him in 0-4 but you was just selling yourself As the true red and white and blue and ebony and ivory kumbaya You the auctioneer the overseer I didn't have the scratch to match the high bid If you truly do not see no color Why you always try to sell a brother - up until the Talking head total hacks talking smack with the fake facts Made him more black gave you a heart attack Talking smack bout God and country Every day it gets more ugly Should I step outside the center or Fight like hell to redefine it? What should I say? What should I do? Can any of y'all handle the truth? Or is it just typical reaction typical distraction Talk about so-called in the affirmative action You scared of reparation retribution black revolution While Dick and your boy George eat the Constitution You fear a black golden rule To make you fuss and cuss If it do unto y'all what y'all been doin' to us Back of the bus. Back of the bus. Back of the bus. Doin' to y'all what y'all been Doing to Afghanistan Doing to Iraq Iran Half full half a man Half empty half-rican No we cain't, yes we can Kick the can American Kick the can. It would be so perfect if she kicked his behind Excuse me while I lose my mind It would be so perfect if she kicked his behind

Your baby sister's chilling, MotherJudge is singing Babylon and Revelation 17 Queen Odetta's Glory Hallelujah is So serene... But now you're in the city without me babe. How you dig the city without me babe? We could have taken in a Broadway show as part of your visit "Passing Strange," I know you'd dig it It's your Daddy's life story - and yours Before you've even lived it But now you're in the city without me babe. How you in the city without me babe? Baby sister's digging music here in Washington Park New York City never sleeps but it sho gets dark To do the right thang in this summer of Sam Grab a cap and mic and follow me if you can Times Square lights are so pretty at night But I'm telling you the city is dark inside Cuz in the Seven-0 the Five-0 done "broke a man down" And a man with a wallet is taking 41 rounds And the colored orphans and the mob they fled And the Stonewall Girls are beat upside their heads And the Triangle Shirt girls fall thud dead And 3000 souls all fall thud dead And two tall towers fall thud dead And on a pile of ashes in a hole downtown The megaphone man drags Liberty down I hope you dig the city without me, babe. I hope you dig the city without me, babe. I hope you dig the city without me, babe. I know you'll dig the city without me, babe.

There's a party going on at Tess' Every Wednesday night Of the "Best of" hers is The Bestest Mother Judge's Open Mic If you need a drummer I betchya Candlen can You could have Mitch on guitar and Albie on bass And Sten will add some flava on mandolin They gonna wreck the place Or Mr. Brodeur can be your one-man power trio He plays guitar, bass and drums at the same time He's in twenty-nine bands so yours will make an even three-oh But his review may call you out for your lame rhymes There's a party going on at Tess' Every Wednesday night Of the "Best of" hers is The Bestest Mother Judge's Open Mic In the back of the room there is chatter That Rosanne will show or even Powhida But when Mother takes the mic nothing else matters It's all about: Sweet Caroline And Mother Judge's Open Mic is like open arms... Yes she welcomes you with open arms tonight But when she opens her mouth she don't need the mic A voice loud and proud like her beauty mark It's calling past the bar, out the door of the Lark They hear it across the street in the Lionheart It's giving Moses the chills up in Washington Park Down Madison past the old Palais digs Steamrolling past Eliot and Silda's crib The voice of heaven, the song of God's daughter Over 787 to the Hudson waters And the Hudson's love takes it all the way down To New York City Manhattan Town This voice so pretty it lifts like magic Over New York City where they wish they had it. Where did our scene go? Where can we sing our songs? I think Annine knows. She says: "Mother Judge has had it all along." But will it be worth it? Will it be as good as I remember it? It's making me nervous... And I know that the antidote to my suburban loneliness is just a few miles down Delaware to her society of urban holinesss - where Mr. Bob Buckley knows every song written since 1965 - where Mr. Troy Pohl is going electric tonight - where Ms. Abdou is up on the TV screen coming in live from the other side of the world via satellite - where Mr. Sevayega rolls in to rock at 1 o'clock a.m. he's on C.P. time. But for this here crazy hair four-eyes brace-face big black behind havin' semi-retired from the music so-called business thirty-somethin' somethin' pushin' forty union webmaster by day husband and daddy by night chilling cold chilling free to be put in a cage livin' in the acoustic soul rock 'n roll capital of the world - a.k.a Delmar... it's just a 14-minute drive - - To the party going on at Tess' Every Wednesday night Of the "Best of" hers is The Bestest Mother Judge's Open Mic

My hole is warm and full of light. Yes it is full of light. There's no brighter spot in all of New York than this hole of mine. This does not exclude Broadway. Or the view from the Empire State These two spots are among the darkest in our so-called civilization... culture. I have one-thousand three-hundred sixty-nine lights There's only one radio I plan to have five Playing the same song at once to overcome the acoustical deadness Pour me some sloe gin Over vanilla ice cream As Louis bends his military instrument into a beam of lyrical sound I have one-thousand three-hundred sixty-nine lights So I fight Light & Power with light This is how the world moves. No arrow. No spiral. Prepare for the boomerang of history. Keep a steel helmet handy. Immature poets imitate. Mature poets steal. I stole that from Eliot. I stole it just to prove him wrong. I have one-thousand three-hundred sixty-nine lights Truth is light. Truth is light