Let me tell you 'bout the man with the pinch-nose laugh,
salt 'n pepper curls like dirty bleached shag
carpet back in '79.
He's right on time in his mind.  
Walked from New York in a storm
cloud umbrella,
down to the warm
southern coast and Crescent City.

Had ice on his eye lashes,
walked like waving Jamaican grasses.
You could blind him with a thin shoe lace.
Sometimes it's easier to change.

Had trouble with the law before.
Try'na slow his roll by the tennis courts.
They got pigs for sale next to the Swisher Sweets
in the neon solo wrappers
on a street named for saints.

Don't upset the curls tonight.
He loves his girl and tha's just fine.
It could be anyone, maybe anywhere.
Would he rather know?
Should I try'ta share?

She was indian, maybe Chickasaw.
Olive skin, real thin, real tall.
Hid it in places a strict diet affords
for the times she decides, "I can't eat kale anymore".

But the curls he was keen for his kind.
Had his head clear despite the smoke in his eyes.
Knew all the stories,
seen the evidence.
Kept up with the statements
and saved the fingerprints.

But tell me now what a man's 'posed to do?
Three kids livin' all under his roof?
Brought home a Dachshund just last week.
Do we eat white bread or wheat?
He'll let go the leash,
go re-heat the quiche.

Sometimes it's easier to change.