Southern Savage
By Sarah Hughes

Spanish Harlem is my home
As we drink our Pabst we watch the trains roll by
Arkansas is so far away
I got on a plane this morning and now I’m here to stay

Traded my porch for a fire escape
No room for couches, we just sit on metal slats and let our feet dangle

No more dollar twenty-five drafts
The taxi cabs replace the pickup trucks
What’s to become of this southern savage?
We ain’t ridin’ back roads no more

The lights in the sky, they stretch for miles
It’s not like the water tower that I saw as a child
At least I don’t have to drive myself home drunk these days
I stumble my ass down to the up-town subway train
Greg’s trying to be like Kerouac
He’s growing a beard and he’s dressing all in black

Five folks in four rooms and none of us have jobs
If our ship don’t come in soon, we’ll just find one to rob
We’ve got no orange juice, but the vodka’s flowing free
Before I light my filter won’t you flip my smoke for me, flip my smoke for me

No hablo espanol
He said como te llamas and I said I don’t know
He sold me some basil, called it Jamaican gold
I paid him twenty-five bills and said it’s time to go

Five folks in four rooms and none of us have jobs
If our ship don’t come in soon, we’ll just find one to rob
We’ve got no orange juice, but the vodka’s flowing free
Before I light my filter won’t you flip my smoke for me, flip my smoke for me

Five folks in four rooms and none of us have jobs
If our ship don’t come in soon, we’ll just find one to rob
We’ve got no orange juice, but the vodka’s flowing free
Before I light my filter won’t you flip my smoke for me, flip my smoke for me