My mistress asks for a bracelet
Bread Pudding, the top crisp and black
The moon was up, the lake was clear
Late August, and after heavy rain, the sun broke through
I remember playing musical chairs, and girls, Oh!
Red sky at night, God is bored and showing off
I turn to ducks, I mean, really, ducks?
The call it the mother of the earth
Dreary midnight and I'm tired
Gently, pick him up, move him from the shadows
A fire in my head
This world is whacky, whacky, whacky
Jamaican philosophy. Am I a vegetable? I fink therefore I'm a yam
Red buses, throbbing black taxis, light overhead
Washing on the line, the smell of boiling clothes