My Gang

歌詞

Many people have been frighted and died in cemeteries since the days of my gang, the night Ninip Houde came up and talked to me on the block and i rowed the imaginary horse on the rowel of the porch rail Where i killed 700,000 flies or more while Ma and Beatrice gossiped in the kitchen, and while drape sheets we airing on the line that's connected to midnight by midnight riding roses Oy- the one bad time that Zaggo got home from school late, dark in the streets, the sisters majestico blooming in the alley retreat, beat, 'Your gang is upstairs' says my mother And i go up to my closed smoky door and open it to a miniature poolhall where all the gang is smoking and yakking with little cue sticks and blue chalk around a miniature table on stilts Bets being made, spittings out the window, cold out there, old murder magoon the winter man in my tree has seen to it that inhalator autumn prestidigitate on time and in ripe form, to wit cold To wit cold, to wit you, to wit winter to wit time, to wit bird, to wit dust- that was some game ole Salvey blanged when he beat G.J. that time, and Rondeau roared Rondeau was the cookie that was always in my hair, a ripe screaming tight brother with heinous helling neck-veins who liked to riddle my fantasms with yaks of mocksqueak joy "Why don't you like young Rondeau?" always i'm asked, because he boasts and boasts, brags, brags, ya, ya, ya, because he's crazy because he's mad and because he never gives us a chance to talk Awright- i'd like to know what Bobby's got against me- but he won't tell, and it's brother deep- in the room they're shooting the break, clack, the little balls break, scatter di mania, They take aim on little balls and break em up to fall, in plicky pockpockets for little children's names drawing Pictures in the games in the whistle of the old corant tree splashing In the mighty mu Missouri lame image of time and again the bride and groom, bloom and again the bidal blood, oo, too-too and rumble o mumble thunder bow, ole Salvey is my alley Ole Salvey's my alley i'll lay it on me i'll shoot fourteen farthings for Father Machree and if ole Hotsatots don't footsie down here bring my gruel, i'll be cruel, i'll be cruel