To grow
And come
To A-mer-ri-kay
And be long silent types
In the night clerk cage
Waiting for railroad calls
And hints from Pakistan
Beluchistan and Mien Mo
That Mahatmas
Havent left the field
And tinkle bells
And cobra flutes
Still haunt our campfires
In the calm & peaceful
Night—
Stars of India
35TH CHORUS
And speak bashfully
Thru strong brown eyes
Of olden strengths
And bad boy episodes
And a father
With sacred cows
A wandering in his field.
“Rain on, O cloud!”
The taste of worms
Is soft & salty
Like the sea,
Or tears.
And raindrops
That dont know
You’ve been deceived
Slide on iron
Raggedly gloomy
36TH CHORUS
Falling off in wind.
I got the San Francisco blues
Bluer than misery
I got the San Francisco blues
Bluer than Eternity
I gotta go on home
Fine me
Another
Sanity
I got the San Francisco blues
Bluer than heaven’s gate, mate,
I got the San Francisco blues
Bluer than blue paint,
Saint,—
I better move on home
Sleep in
My golden
Dream again
37TH CHORUS
I got the San Acisca blues
Singin in the street all day
I got
The San Acisca
Blues
Wailin in the street all day
I better move on, podner,
Make my West
The Eastern Way—
San
Fran
Cis
Co—
San
Fran
Cis
Co
Oh—
ba
by
38TH CHORUS
Ever see a tired
ba by
Cryin to sleep
in its mother’s arms
Wailin all night long
while the locomotive
Wails on back
A cry for a cry
In the smoke and the lamp
Of the hard ass night
That’s how I
fee-
eel—
That’s how
I fee-eel!
That’s how
I feel—
What a deal!
Yes I’m goin ho
o
ome
39TH CHORUS
Yes I’m goin
on
home
today
Tonight I’ll be ridin
The 80 mile Zipper
And flyin down the Coast
Wrapt in a blanket
Cryin
And cold
So brother
Pour me a drink
I got lots of friends
From coast to coast
And ocean to ocean
girls
But when I see
A bottle a wine
And see that it’s full
I like to open it
And take of it my fill
40TH CHORUS
And when my head gets dizzy
And friends all laugh
And money pours
from my pocket
And gold from my ears
And silver flies out
and rubies explode
I’ll up & eat
And sing another song
And drop another grape
In my belly down
What Omar Khayyam said
Better be happy
With the happy grape
As make long faces
And groan all night
In search of fruit
That dont exist
41ST CHORUS
So Mister Engineer
And Mister Hoghead
Conductor Jones
And you head brakeman
And you, tagman
on this run
Give me a hiball
Boomer’s or any kind
Start that Diesel
All 3 Units
Less roll on down that rail
See Kansas City by dawn
Or grass of Amarilla
Or rooftops of Old New York
Or banksides green with grass
In April
Anywhere
42ND CHORUS
I’d better be a poet
Or lay down dead.
Little boys are angels
Crying in the street
Wear funny hats
Wait for green lights
Carry bust out tubes
Around their necks
And roam the railyards
Of the great cities
Looking for locomotives
Full of shit
Run down to the waterfront
And dream of Cathay
Hook spars with Gulls
Of athavoid thought.
43RD CHORUS
Little Cody Deaver
A San Francisco boy
Hung by hair of heroes
Growing green & thin
And soft as sin
From the tie piles
Of the railer road
Track where Tokay
Bottles rust in dust
Waiting for the term
Of partiality
To end up there
In heaven high
So’s loco can
Come home
Con poco coco.
44TH CHORUS
Little heroes of the dead
Found a nickle instead
And bought a Borden half & half
Orange Sherbert & vanil milk
Trod the pavements
Of unfall Frisco
Waiting for its earthquake
To waver houses men
And streets to spindle
Drift to fall at Third
Street Number 6–15
Where Bank now stands
Jack London was born
And saw gray rigging
At the ‘barcadero
Pier, His bier
commemorated in marble
To advertise the stone
Of vaults where money rots.
45TH CHORUS
Inquisitive plaidshirt
Pops look at trucks
In the afternoon
While Mulligan’s
Stewing on the stove
And Calico spreads
Her milk & creamy legs
For advertising salesman
Passing thru from Largo
Oregon where water
Runs the Willamette down
By blasted to-the-North
Volcanic ashes seft.
46TH CHORUS
Babies born screaming
in this town
Are miserable examples
of what happens
Everywhere.
Bein Crazy is
The least of my worries.
Now the sun’s goin down
In old San Fran
The hills are in a haze
Of Shroudy afternoon—
Bent withered Burroughsian
Greeks pass
In gray felt hats
Expensively pearly
On bony suffer heads
47TH CHORUS
And old Indian bo’s
With no stockings on
Just Chinese Shuffle
Opium shoes
Take the snaily constitutional
Down 3rd St gray & lost
& Hard to see.
Tragic burpers
With scars of snow
Bound bigly
Huge to find it
To the train
Of time & pain
Waiting at the terminal.
Young punk mankind
Three abreast
Go thriving downwards
In the hellish street.
48TH CHORUS
Red shoes of the limpin whore
Who drags her blues
From shore to shore
Along the stores
Lookin for a millioinaire
For her time’s up
And she got no guts
And the man aint comin
And I’m no where.
He aint done nothin
But change hats
And go to work
And light a new cigar
And stands in doorway
Swingin the 8 inch
Stogie all around
Arc ing to see
Mankind’s vast
49TH CHORUS
Sea restless crown
Come rolling bit by bit
From offices of gloom
To homes of mortuary
Hidden Television
Behind the horse’s
Clock in Hopalong
The Burper’s bestfriend
Ten gat waving
Far from children
Sadly waving
From the balcony
Above this street
Where Acme Paper
Torn & Tattered
S’down the parade
Thrown to clebrate
McParity’s return:
50TH CHORUS
All ties in
Like anacin.
Well
So unlock the door
And go to supper
And let the women cook it,
Light’s on the hill
The guitar’s a-started
Playing by itself
The shower of heaven notes
Plucked by a gypsy woman
In some old dream
Will bless it all
I see furling out
Below—
51ST CHORUS
The laundress has bangs
And pursy lips
And thin hips
And sexy walk
And goes much faster
When she knows
The booty in her
laundry bag
Is undiscovered
And unknown
And so no cops watching
she steps on it
t’escape the Feds
of Wannadelancipit
Here in the Standard
Building
Flying High
the
Riding Horse
A Red—
52ND CHORUS
None of this means
anything
For krissakes speak up
& be true
Or shut up
& Go to bed
Dead
The wash is waving goodbye
Towards Oakland’s russet
I know there are huge clouds
Ballooning beyond the bay
And out Potato Patch,
The snowy sea away,
The milk is furling
Huge and roly
Poly burly puffy
53RD CHORUS
Pulsing push
To come on in
Inundate Frisco
Fill the rills
And ride the ravines
And sneak on in
With Whippoorwill
To-hoo— To-wa!
The Chinese call it woo
The French les brumes
The British
Fog
L A
Smog
Heaven
Cellar door
54TH CHORUS
Communities of houses
Caparisoned by sunlight
On the last & fading hill
Of America a-rollin
Rollin
To the Western Chill
And delicacies of statues
Hewn by working men
Neoned, tacked on,
Pressed against the sign
Mincin
Mincin
To sell the swellest coupon
Understand?
Light on the fronts
of old buildings
Like in New York
In December dusks
When hats point to sea
55TH CHORUS
This means
that everything
has some home
to come to
Light has windows
balconies of iron
like New Orleans
It also has all space
And I have windows
balconies of iron
like New Orleans
I also have all space
And St Louis too
Light follows rivers
I do too
Light fades, I pass
56TH CHORUS
Light illuminates
The intense cough
Of young girls in love
Hurrying to sell their
future husband
On the Market St
Parade
Light makes his face
reddern
Her white mask
She sucks to bone him dry
And make him happy
Make him cry
Make him baby
Stay by me.
57TH CHORUS
Crooks of Montreal
Tossing up their lighters
To a cigarette of snow
Intending to plot evil
And break the pool machine
Tonight off Toohey’s head
And the Frisco fire team
Come howling round
The corner of the dream
58TH CHORUS
Immense the rivets
In the broadsides
Of battleships
Fired upon head on
In face to face combat
In the Philippines
Anchored Alameda
Overtime for toilets
On Labor Day
59TH CHORUS
IL
W
U
Has tough w
hite seamen
Scrapping snow white hats
In favor of iron clubs
To wave in inky newsreels
When Frisco was a drizzle
And Curran all sincere,
Bryson just a baby,
Reuther bloodied up,
—When publications
Of Union pamphleteers
Featured human rock jaws
Jutting Editorialese
Composed by angry funny
redhead editors
Walking with their heads down
To catch the evening fleet
And wave goodbye to sailors
passing rosely dreams
Into a sparkling cannon
Gray & spicked & span
To shine the Admiral
In his South Pacific pan—
60TH CHORUS
No such luck
For Potter McMuck
Who broke his fist
On angry mitts
In fist fights
Falling everywhere
From down Commercial
To odd or even
All the piers
Blang! Bang!
I L W U had a hard time
And so did N A M
And S P A M
And as did A M
61ST CHORUS
YOU INULT ME EVERY NIME, MALN BWANO
Ladies and Gentle-man
The phoney woiker
You here see
Got can one time
In Toonisfreu
Ger ma nyeee
Becau he had
no dime
To give the con duck teur
Yo see he stiffled
For his miffle
And couldnt cough a little
Bill de juice ran
down his Sfam.
62ND CHORUS
JULIEN LOVE’S SOUND
“All
right!
Here we are
with all the little lambs.
Has anyone disposed
of my old man
Last night?
Mortuary deeds,
Dead,
Drink, me down
Table or two,
Wher’d you put it
Kerouac?
The bottoms in your bag
Of cellar heaven doors
And hellish consistencies
Gelatinous & composed