Joseph and Mary
had a dear friend named Harry
who loved his dairy
came baby Jesus
then Harry went to pieces
oh this is grievous
babies drink dairy
but not yours trust me Harry
Joseph trust Mary
came Mastiff Hey'Zeus
saw Harry and had figured
puss without its boots
oh Mary Joseph
is Hey'Zeus just visiting
he's your new brother
strange though drinks dairy
oh nice bet you hate won ton
well did plan to change
The Chinese are going for bagels
The Jews head out for won ton
I really am not quite sure anymore
Which side I am on!
When they're at the Chinese restaurant
It reminds them of each other for sure
Won Ton reminds her of his weight
Spelled backwards reminds him of her!
Guitar case Buddha
Out back is a room with a tin roof
& there somewhere among
The old paint cans
& broken furniture
Is a guitar case
& in the flap where you
Stash picks & spare strings
Is a small wooden Buddha
At least I think he´s still there
20 yrs ago mooching around
Chinatown San Francisco
I bought him for a buck
From a street stall
Put him inside my jacket
& went for lunch
Upstairs in a place
With flying duck wallpaper
& dirty windows
We ate won ton soup
Waited until the rain eased off
& part of me is sad
I will never see San Francisco
Again & eat won ton soup
In Chinatown
& part of me thinks
I might go free that
Little Buddha
& put him up on the
Mantelpiece
& toast him with my first
Glass of evening wine
Salut my friend
Your exile is over
Who knows what she thinks?
With a carryon in the bong,
we can all feel a fawn-
an elf or even a lawn,
choreograph the Kong,
won-ton the Chong...
We can all get along,
but with a wrong,
we can’t rewrite the-
without a face we can’t despite against ya.
In an ace there is a heightened –ah?
Like color of lace,
it's a mighty puck,
where it goes is the fight in ya.
With the case of the buyers luck-
the liars had struck the mired guck,
But why must they fire at all of ya?
If I’m inspired,
i’d hire ya,
rewire ta-
bake a higher ****!
Get by or duck!
Ever seen god tired?
he’d leave ya admired,
never forgets it’s the bean stock,
that makes a flock,
and its a shame to spot,
with your fingers,
fibers-
or even your hot,
so why with-stand when tomorrow is starin’ at ya?
Its gods hand that is in the pocket lock,
sheep talk,
or even a reed walk...
Hatein' it in a state of fleeing,
strumming or heating-
blind or not the eye’s are still teeming,
so common common-man get down,
that frown isn’t appealing…
Get yourself a crowd and put a sheet on the bleeding!