I hung out with the Devil on Manhattan's
Lower East Side
Had a toke of poverty
long, slow, heavenly inhale
The hobos burning dreams
'round a trash can full of fear
Anesthetizing homelessness
'neath a cold, dark scrapered sky
Pimps and who*es were ticking business
like Wall Street whackers on the Stock Exchange
Longing Johns laid with riches seeded
in the backs of black-gla**ed shiny white limos
The tenements lurched in the chains of their indignity
shutters cracking in the wind
Babies crying, dogs barking
unheeded or unheard
And when I asked the Devil what tunes he'd like to hear
boom-boxing with the fumes of brake-dancing automobiles
He smiled in his ghoulish way
with a glint of fire in his eye and said
'Gospel.'