“I have heard the songs of lost goys, seen
them throw their kosher wives away for
shiksas with an easy fix to score a dark oblivion.
I have watched them chase away
their dreams for gay Gurus in sheister
shopping Malls; and dived into myself at
at Moma. The Museum of Modern Fart,
where I found God
who ripped me off during a fake mantra session
in downtown Manhattan, before a hot Mandala.
But I have come through, oh my brothers!
And now I sing of the universal Bagel.
International panacea. Hot from the oven of
Jahweh, at Louis’ Delicatessen on the Lower
East side, New York.
Open Sesame Seed Bagel! Or a crammed Get High
Poppy Dream Bagel!
Surrounded by a cole slaw sea and
a Salt beef mountain.
Yeah Yeah! Oh Yid Here we sat down and
Played our harps by the waters of Manhattan
singing “Make Bagels, oh my friends! Not War.”
And comrade! You who dreamed of a bright
red dawn. Hurl away your hammer, snap your
angry sickle. Oh Comrade! Come! Join me.
Join me in love.
Take a bite of my sweet and sour pickle. .
And as for you! Oh Goy! Enjoy.
Join in the feast of joy.
Tear away your crown of thorns,
forget your star in the East. Your bed of nails.
Your holier than thou Christian pie in the sky.
Bite my blissful blintz, my Pastrami on Rye. And
I shall try to put aside
The Father, the Son and the Holocaust.