Tenderloin

Cop killer
Blood spiller
On the six o’clock news
Raises snakes
No lights on brakes, he’s got nothing to lose
Letter bombers
Starving farmers
Football team wins, yeah
Missing kids
And garbage lids
But there’s no connection, yeah
Pretty honey’s on TV
No more dreaming
It’s on the street
Mr. Johnson went and shot up his family on New Year’s Eve
Roll the dice
Don’t think twice
Because you just may be right
Take a trip
On her front lip
But don’t lick your eyes
Hurry, honey, I need your love
Strip the poor
In liquor stors and
Buddy, you got a dime?
My head is fuzzy
And my tongue’s lik a snake
I don’t remember my crime
No more movies
My brain’s a TV
Mr. Johnson went and shot up his family on New Year’s Eve
After five years, four apartments, three abortions, two cities, and a dog,
she left me. Came off the long haul, sat out on back, she told me she was
unhappy with our relationship. I hate that word. I should have had a clue.
It’s awful. The next day, I could only find new age music in the tape deck.
The '63 convertible had «for sale» sign on it. She loved that car more than me.
I acted like a shot dog for a while. Spent a weekend at the flop house and a
tenderloin in Little Saigon. It wasn’t bad. I had a color TV and liquor store
catty-cornered to each other of the bottom. After a couple days,
the old Chinaman at Al’s Liquor and Deli let me get my own ice.
He said, 'Help yourself. I can tell a gentleman when I see one.
' Well, I called a buddy of mine that week; we shot pool with each other at
Route 101 Bar. We couldn’t understand how a guy like me lost a girl like that.
I didn’t want to believe I was good enough for her, so she quit trying to
convince me. Bought me a couple of shots, and didn’t ask any more questions.
I don’t like nosy people. I went back to my room that day, and after downing
six beers watching the wind blow the litter on the street, I called her.
I told her to take her time and that I’d been a bad person and deserved to be
punished. I told her I loved her and that I’d wait forever for her to take me
back. She said 'I've been seeing someone, honey. Don’t feel bad;
he’s nothing like you. I don’t even love him. He just makes me feel good.
Just a guy in a three-piece.' Later that night, the TV illuminated the room,
so I gazed out the window. Prostitutes were weaving down the street,
while their employers waited the evening’s profits. Down in the back bar