Down on the corner where the dead men sing,
The bystanders in leather will do their thing.
Out on the streets where the drifters were raised,
Where the rain is always pouring and the vagrants are glazed.
The lady on the corner is a friend of mine.
She’ll blow the bartender right out of his mind.
Down in the bay where the women are fine,
She’ll stick that bottle where the sun don’t shine.
Rub your two pence together,
If you haven’t got a dime.
Whether it be for a beer,
Or a cheap glass of wine.
Fixed on the corner of the upper east side,
Sits a watering hole where the whiskey stays dry.
There’s a peacock choking on a salty bar nut,
And the toilet’s overflowing with filthy smut.
The barman pours me a lick of gasoline,
She goes down easy, if you know what I mean.
I roll up my sleeves and take a seat.
I ask for a double of scotch dressed neat.
Out on the edge of a rundown street,
There’s a taproom where degenerates meet.
The kids are playing hooky ‘round a broken hydrant.
The colors they make are all but vibrant.
The police don’t care, ‘cause the water is free,
And this is the action they’ve come to see.
Freddy the goomba and Jimmy the mooch,
Can’t find the bottom of a bottle of hooch.
Their rich uncle is rotting in jail,
On a misdemeanor shade of dark blackmail.
Oh, sweet honey, you swirl real smooth,
You go down easy like a sweet vermouth.
You don’t need to be a poet to sit with me,
One only needs to speak easy.
This is not the house of God,
Even though He gets a nod.
And Jesus isn’t here to watch the flock,
Unlike the boys from around the block.
But Christ sees the ghost sitting at the bar,
He can see him shimmer from near or far.
And He sees His face in the suds of a pint of beer,
While the patrons reminisce on all that they hear.
I’ll tell you what it means once I figure it out,
I’ll shout it in a bottle, what it’s all about.
There’s a trickle of sugar running down my leg,
It pours from that swill in the banged up keg.
There’s plenty of that where I come from,
And the bees on the west side are gonna come.
They’re gonna have a feast when the beast comes around.
There’s gonna be a surplus when he comes to town.
When your mind is pried wide open,
And you let the spirits in,
Just gather up some comfort,
And let the festivities begin.
— David Allen
Volkuros Prophesies 