Jonah was a wise man—all the children ran away from him.

His mind was like an orchard cracked from limb to limb.

What’s this sticky pulp this evening hour—

the smarts we call wisdom, the tricks that we call power?

Ricky was a wiseass—never called the teacher by name.

He looked a little Irish and a bit to blame.

Freckled, auburn, he made me laugh until I cried.

Maybe they would send him far away until his bad things died.

Take him at the wrist and clobber out the devil, wailing, "No! No! No!"

When you gonna quit this mischief—when you gonna grow, grow, grow?

Corner all the sluts and make them scream for daddy.

Sweet Loretta thinks on her feet, even when she’s lying down.

First the shooting pain, and then release.

First she rest in shit, then she rest in peace.

Gotta have your street sense, gotta have your boots in the snow, snow, snow.

When you gonna quit this mischief—when you gonna grow, grow, grow?

How shall I send thee, baby?

How will I recognize the truth?

How can I save my body?

How will I know it’s really you?

Never gonna sew the seedlings you won’t sew, sew, sew.

Never gonna dock this boat if you don’t row, row, row.

When you gonna finally come back? How you gonna let me know, know, know?

When will you untie these stirrups?

When you gonna let me go?