I ride the cross town buses down the alleys past the houses where the watch dog watches out for strangers on the loose I’ll pick an address off the sidewalk pick my way in past the pad lock where the hot wire burglar alarm is suckin’ up the juice the dirty son of an LA DJ hot rod racin’ down the LA freeway wrong way down the one way right of way right into a crash they send out for an aid car come up runnin’ with a crow bar pry him out and work him over so he don’t get whip lash the street corner preacher he’s an ex-karate teacher black belt evangelist doin’ god’s almighty will while the hard core sinners eat their pornographic dinners go to church and bribe the minister with a twenty dollar bill old ladies with their nurses carry pistols in their purses to protect them from the children who are out of control adolescent alcoholics pick pocket people’s wallets to work their way through grade school and make the honor roll all the low down rounders and the dug in undergrounders hang around with out of towners lookin’ for their chance panhandle propositions play upon your superstitions sleight of hand pick the pockets right out of your pants the country singer from Tacoma says he’s born in Oklahoma learned to ride in Arizona and he’s got the boots to prove it and it’s sad and kinda funny makin’ all that money puts it up his nose ‘cause he don’t know what else to do with it yes these times they are confusin’ it’s enough to make you blow a fuse ‘n’ it’s enough to make you throw up your hands n say “what’s the use” when all the ships are sinkin’ and you can’t say what you’re thinkin’ ‘cause that’ll just piss ‘em off you gotta to keep it loose

yonder come my landlord collecting his rent with his greedy yellow eyes and his tongue all bent with his padlocked pockets and his bad luck nose sniffin’ ‘round my doorway and goin’ through my clothes oh how could you treat me so cold you got a mortgage on my body and a lien on my soul I got a crackpot house with a two way roof my neighbors are thieves but I got no proof you like to take you don't want to give i gotta make a lot of money just to have a place to live oh how could you treat me so cold you got a mortgage on my body and a lien on my soul but hey you landlord I know you well you run a rock and roll tavern and fancy hotel you misuse a lot of people that you got at your command I’ll put on a pair of gloves before I shake your hand oh how could you treat me so cold you got a mortgage on my body and a lien on my soul you go watching through windows what you got no right to see knocking on doors where you got no right to be your legs are weak 'cause you been telling lies and some day somebody’s gonna get wise oh how could you treat me so cold you got a mortgage on my body and a lien on my soul you’re gonna get evicted out on the street with no food in your belly no shoes on your feet you’re gonna walk around from door to door but nobody’s gonna want to see you anymore oh how could you treat me so cold you got a mortgage on my body and a lien on my soul you’re gonna wake up in the helpless dawn look around and find that your land is gone you want to be cold just as cold as you please well come next winter you're gonna freeze oh how could you treat me so cold you got a mortgage on my body and a lien on my soul

down along Pig Alley everything is in a fog there is nothing moving anywhere except a hobo dog with its nose stuck in a boiler that been busted 30 years when from around a darkened corner a young cowboy appears just got into town, it’s the Pike Street Kid and the dog and him go off together down along the skid the professor, he’s out looking out of curiosity he wants to find some real people for the university he finds a couple underneath a bench, half buried in the lawn when a policeman comes up and wants to know what street he’s on the professor says he’ll tell him but first he needs a hand and together they go digging in the Pig Alley sand from out of nowhere Pagliacci, who is very well depressed comes with all his shoes untied though he is otherwise very well dressed juggling a load of empty boxes as he fumbles for his keys but they slip right through his fingers, he falls cursing to his knees a midget monk comes up running with a huge iron cross screaming at the top of his lungs, “Jesus is the boss!” they’re growing winos in the cellar, underneath the street trained to wear tuxedos and politely how to eat Prince Charming, the graduate, had just finished the course and holding his diploma he rides away on a big white horse and he marries the pretty country girl who dreams of being a queen but winds up washing dishes in the Pig Alley canteen on the beach below the pilings in a well pitched camp there lives Gentleman Jim with his band of trusty tramps living almost entirely on dumb luck still the gentleman’s got enough put aside to buy them a pickup truck and the sun is shining brightly as down the road they drive some of the very few to ever get out alive there are many who have come here just to spend the day to walk along the boardwalk to explore the alleyways but its only one of a thousand who is ever allowed to leave the rest have grown to the pavement and been stapled down by their sleeves you can see them on the curbings with their pockets full of glass they will hook you by your heels as you try to walk past so come on down take a look, have the time of your lives you only live once, so says the Jack Of Knives treat yourself, feed your eyes, enjoy it while you can see if you can beat them at their own sleight of hand everyone is very friendly, they will all take you home and you will never again ever have to be alone

the news hit the streets and it spread like wild fire lit up all the headlines and the teletype wires calling out for fortune in the far off frozen cold goin’ up to Alaska to mine the black pipeline gold and they were loading up their cars payin’ fare to take the trains and it was black gold fever that was burning in their brains in the Great Alaska Oil Rush poster print and hand bills pasted on the walls of the job call stations and the union halls promised high pay wages for those that ply the trade and take a chance to make a killing where the big money’s made and they were headed out of the highway headed north to stake a claim on the mighty pipeline fields where they’re cut out across the plains in the Great Alaska Oil Rush stock investment brokers sold the fat fiscal shares to the payroll gamblers and the landed millionaires corporation kickbacks and side door deals to pad the pockets of the profiteers and the big shot wheels mouthpiece preachers talking progress designs with the future of the empire laid out on the line of the Great Alaska Oil Rush the lucky ones who made it worked the twelve hour days workin’ hard to beat the clock to get the payroll raise while the unlucky others, cut off and stranded turned away refused, unemployed and empty handed huddled in the hotels of the cold water freeze to join the ranks of the thousand new Alaskan refugees of the Great Alaska Oil Rush hard hated prospectors shoveled on the crews wearing sub-zero jackets and insulation shoes diggin’ with Caterpillar tractors muscled in the ditch eating prime rib and lobster tails fit for the rich with a maid to do their laundry and a maid to clean their rooms ten dollars an hour scrubbin’ pots and pushin’ brooms in the Great Alaska Oil Rush across the high wild tundra, through the forest and the trees through the valleys and the fields of a million mysteries the mine field marauders swept through in a wave dug a trench through the ground to make a junk yard grave where the throw-away machinery was thrown off in the blinders in a garbage dump trail that was to serve as a reminder of the Great Alaska Oil Rush environment protectors shouted their despair hammered out their voices through the empty hollow air for the rape and the plunder of the virgin native soil torn up and gutted in the mighty name of oil but it was progress for the future and there was no time to stall the importance of the project was the most important thing of all in the Great Alaska Oil Rush it was an all out effort and a last chance try a high stakes gamble at an all time high to uphold the honor and the patriotic pride of the two car family and the limousine ride to the show the whole wide world they could make it on their own like the rugged individual independent and alone in the Great Alaska Oil Rush all hail the future of conglomerated dreams all power to the powerful who deal in gasoline lo and behold the greatest sight yet to appear the utmost wonder of the western hemisphere like the poor fool’s folly of fanatical need a monumental overdose of blind raging greed in the Great Alaska Oil Rush but like a joke that the world plays on those that try to trick it those too big for their britches that they think that they can lick it the greatest gasoline machine to ever make the fat man drool left half unconstructed when the trucks ran out of fuel and like the bones of the dinosaur plowed under in the plains the scraps of the skeleton are all that remain of the Great Alaska Oil Rush

I met a young girl who sat on a step I saw her quite clearly quite early one night I spoke the first words that came to my head she sealed my fate when she answered "alright" she looked quite old though she was younger than I and I asked her how many like me she had seen "I never counted" she said with a grin I looked at my hand said "I see what you mean" I hear her say as the night was wearing thin and she printed my name on the bottom of her shoes "all those who pass by they can never win but those who come in they can never lose" there are many fine seas to part with your hand and many fine roads if you know how to choose to some it's a chance ta the axe of the queen but to one it's a name on an old pair of shoes

everybody just watches while the clock unwinds makin’ long term payments, buying time on time change hits so hard it’s laid out in the cards either you get with it or it leaves you behind and you ain’t got long to choose now the hour is getting late the wild eyed savior holds the passport to hope with direct communications to the angels of the pope while the cross hanger broods in a righteous ugly mood he’d like to find a disbeliever he can fit with his rope god is on the rampage but the hour is getting late Madam Linda, the fat man wants your address please the new rich hip wants to paint your knees it’s so unfair they follow you everywhere they offer you their clothes so you won’t freeze and so far you’ve refused but the hour is getting late psychopathic nurses with their knife happy crew convince the unwilling behind the doors of Harborview antiseptic voyeurs special bred by their employers go if you need somebody to look at you they’re all eyes now but the hour is getting late the uniform superman makes his pass in a law and order limousine with bullet proof glass and he thinks about his kids as he goes sneaking up on manhole lids if his partners don’t shoot him first he could make second class he’s getting stronger all the time but the hour is getting late the good will soldiers outside in the hall they’re out to save everybody from everything an all and they love to hear you complain they look for people in chains they will help you to your knees if you want to crawl and a lot of people do but the hour is getting late temptation grows on you after a while you elevate yourself and you do it in style and the logical greed buys you everything you need pay a man to fix your face so you die with a smile you’re really riding high but the hour is getting late gold fever killed Al Capone and built New York City on pawnbroker loans you beg, buy, and borrow like there ain’t no tomorrow when you’re dead they’ll send someone out to repossess your bones you are up to your neck and the hour is getting late so take a good look at everything you’ve make and count up all the costs of every trick you’ve ever played weigh it out and find was it really worth the time for everything you get somebody must be paid and they’re coming to collect now the hour is getting late

let me tell you the story about Poor Marcel how he lived and how he died how the point of his own hand did cut him in his stride I knew him well from mornings when I watched him rob the shoes of old men asleep with wine with only shoes to lose he never said a word and he never made a sound he never left a footprint when he walked upon the ground with a black patch eye and a face of solid stone he came and went just like a ghost and always went alone it was in the middle of the afternoon the day was hot and bright when two small boys came into his sight “who are you” they said to him “and tell us what you have” Marcel, he just turned his back I never saw him laugh the oldest was eleven and the youngest he was eight Marcel pulled a knife and he flashed it in their face “get out of here” he said to them “or I’ll cut you to the bone” they ran off away in fright and left him there alone it was on the very next morning as the sky was growing gray that two men pulled the knives that were to take his life away someone cried “isn’t anybody here a man could bleed to death oh my god what kind of place is this?” then someone come a-runnin’ but by then it was too late for Poor Marcel had already met his fate the air hung hot there was running on the ground and all you could hear was that park murder sound on the blanket where the preacher slept Marcel’s blood did flow “I’m afraid that your time has come I think you’d better know” and seven hours later as the police shook their heads seven hours later Poor Marcel was dead I think about these things as I go along my way how we may never understand the world and all its ways but I just told the story call it truth or call it lie it’s just about Poor Marcel how he lived and how he died

it was pretty near cold, it was eighteen degrees the door done froze, hope the pipes don’t freeze lonesome coyote growled way off on a rise where the iceberg winter hit me right between the eyes and the old timers told that it wasn’t all that cold as they stoked the coal stove worth its weight in solid gold they do what they do and it’s all so very strange take a shot of the usual if you’re lookin’ for a change the cannibal troop ships docked up real slow to the long shore dock that belonged to Brother Joe while in the fat black limousine the banker and the toad made plans for the future as they watched the ships unload and the watch tower spies with their telescopic eyes made sure everything was legal so that no one would get wise they do what they do and it’s all so very strange take a shot of the usual if you’re lookin’ for a change Ramblin’ Dave got busted and they throwed him in jail where they spent all his money and they opened all his mail and the flatfoot partners on the downtown beat carved another notch and went off down the street and the stool pigeon swore as he crawled across the floor “you may think it’s over but I think there’s more” they do what they do and it’s all so very strange take a shot of the usual if you’re lookin’ for a change in the lobotomy factory on the midnight shift there sat Sylvia by the dead weight lift staring holes through the plaster of the company walls while all the old vultures made up stories in the hall and the roll caller came calling everyone by name rearranging faces till they all turned out the same they do what they do and it’s all so very strange take a shot of the usual if you’re lookin’ for a change Blanche and Rita, very frightened for their lives watched Matt, the up and coming, practice throwing knives at a sullen-eyed motorcycle heavy with a beard who rolled over sideways and then just disappeared and the radio moaned like a dog without no bone as the slow smoke rose around the no smokin’ zone they do what they do and it’s all so very strange take a shot of the usual if you’re lookin’ for a change the lynch mob posse played a dangerous game with their bloodhound noses on the trail of Jesse James who came and went like a vanishing ghost slipping in and out of handcuffs all up and down the coast and the victims all got wise how to be better victimized painting bulls eye targets right between their eyes they do what they do and it’s all so very strange take a shot of the usual if you’re lookin’ for a change in the family reunion hall where hangs the family creed no one said a word and no one disagreed and the mother and the father with the baby in their arms saw only what they wanted to see so they would not be alarmed and the time ran dry at the twelve o’clock high they knotted up their collars and they left without their ties they do what they do and it’s all so very strange take a shot of the usual if you’re lookin’ for a change lonesome hobo felt his feet begin to drag through the freight yard dust where he collected paper bags he thought about himself like a dog without a tail as he bed down in the cinders, put his head up on the rail and the four-0-nine way behind time never knew a thing until they read the headlines they do what they do and it’s all so very strange take a shot of the usual if you’re lookin’ for a change