Sloshy names and uptown roads,
That fathered back an old nostalgia
Of what could have been?
If so and so did not fall down
From a burn down sky open.
Economic depression it cradles
And the little babe one day will
Wash down the youth
In a sublime craze.
Fast money, brick wall, BMW
And little black skirts of sun high gaze
The nights spend in a ghetto
And collars of shot money whiskey beau.
Their bathtub ends up in a belladonna dream
If only the little babe did not have
The milk teeth and eyes
That lull only in the mammoth cot.