Waiting, waiting in line at the phone booth,
Waiting for African women to finish their long-distance scream
at distant relatives in Zaire
going through stacks of change like steaming belgian waffles.
At last I find a vacant phone booth, only to be beat there by
one of the omnipresent old ladies of Brux-elles.
("Why" I moan "does 'public' have to mean 'shabby'?
waiting in endless lines, grime, sweat,
the miserable smell of wet wool in winter
ancient metallic armpit sweat in summer?)
"Granma suckin' on her teeth wearin' her regulation
she knows she runs this town,
she know she got it all sewed up.
Ain't no room in this town for weirdos, outcasts,
No room at all.
Granma waddle into the tram backin' up everybody behind,
by god, they got it all sewed up.
Regulation granma uniform,
fur coat an' hat in winter,
ugly print dress in summer.
Here comes the tram, packed to the teeth,
only had to wait 45 minutes this time!
So, everybody out, Porte de Namur, last stop for everybody on this thing,
best shopping in town,
(if only, if only, please jesus, please!)
I'm gonna break in yer door,
gonna rape yer dog,
gonna jack off on yer fur coat,
look out look out
I'm the one who's gonna get you
I'm waitin' in the corner when you go to the cash machine
It's me, it's me
"Whachoo lookin' at asshole?"
"Turn yer eyes the other way or I'll put 'em out with a
fuckin' lit cigarette."
Granma by Blaine L. Reininger is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at www.mundoblaineo.org.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.mundoblaineo.org.