I may be growed

but I still believe in those fairy tale books

with those black-eyed princes comin'

to take those towers down

and laughin'

at the sight of a poisoned apple.

I do like those princes

very much.

 

And those dirt New York roads, so peaceful, so quiet.

Until that newfangled Auto-

mo-

bile.

Now look here where it got us.

I may be growed

but they still treat me out in the fields

like I'm a child, playin in a

stitched together

crossword of

birds nests

out in the corn somewhere.

That's where I've a mind to be sometimes, instead of

here, pickin these wax beans

into my lampshade. click.

 

I'm growed,

but I ain't gonna stand

for no more injustice.

The rippin' of my heart

out to sea

to be caught and intoxicated with

the needles and elephants

and Chanel No. 5.

And she would rather drive in the passenger's seat,

thank you very much.