Waist-high to a cricket in the tall gra** You and Julie Ann Fitzpatrick were a match Made in the attic of your father's flat Quarter kisses, 'cause love's that cheap At the age when bravery means stepping on a garden snake At Kopel Creek just to hear her shriek You've got the bites and fractured shin to show She was the best three months you'd ever known Sweet slang until the ma**ive town bell tolls August closed The next season, your name weren't more than dirt She was swept up by Clarence McGee A beatnik prick, only out for bank and skirt So you wrote your Uncle Charlie, and for what? A piece of you'd make in just one month If you did whatever the hell he does, concrete or street d** Would either have been kinder on your nose? It was the most bullsh** you'd ever known As you were scrounging in the slums They were already engaged in the capitol, fever and all The city made her sour as a skunk Matted in her yellow locks Were ink and blackberry mola**es And she reeked of drunk "I caught Clarence half-asleep in the sack With some s*ut of a jazz musician, so I hoofed it home And stumbled to your door to say that to this day I never saw how much that summer showed And believe you me, had I had known I can tell you what I'd say if he proposed, no" Your leaving learned me to leave you alone