It's Just A Thing

I always told them that the story really started in the ditch at the side of the tracks
And that the details, which I promised never to reveal to anyone
Are painful and shocking
As the details often are
But the fact of the matter is The Clevenger did forget, and now he's dead
So perhaps the time is finally come for me to tell the tale and have done with it

It was late December, and I hadn't seen the swing for weeks
Usually it wouldn't bother me too much
But the downstairs kin had begun the march of the hypocrites
Having dug the prime number once too often they were jonzing for a heavy dose of Mahjong
And I'm afraid I was gonna take the fall if I didn't raise the paper in a hurry

It was only one or two, so I decided to head out on my broom and sweep the city clean
Until I had fully dug the destiny of my swingie swing
To see if she'd realized the neutral categories of error or simply goofed to Whig City
If so I knew it was gonna be a sad drag from here on out

First off I made for the Tabby Apple: A jive-box straight out of night gallery
Where sweaty couples writhed under heat lamps to the crazy lumbering rhythms of the band
That dressed in frilly fushia tuxedos and sounded like Dessi Aness on some kind of psychedelic valley

Thirteen was behind the bar and I sounded him to dig if he had seen the swing lately
But, he couldn't recall right away
So I drew him a picture, but he couldn't hear it

I decided to swoop the scene and fly to Wicker, Swing's old neighborhood
There zero in on a club called the Magneto where I'd heard
They'd served a drink Swing invented called the pilot light
A sweet little taste at first, but a brain bender later on
Hard enough to take any chump chumpy enough to try it
Straight to the burning in ash to bulla bridge

That was when I bumped into 47
Old 47, tanked up on the Bean as usual and feeling
No pain from the morphine he'd had the for lunch that day
Lit up like a fuse at the mention of Swing's tang
And vowed safe to me that he had the bushy tail to come along

Now I knew that 47 had long since relegated his routine synapse dos
To the thirteenth quadrant of his subconscious mind
But, he never wigged on me, and
I knew if I flopped in a puddle three feet deep somewhere along the way
He might just be the worthy stud to help pull me out and wipe off the gin

I said, "I think I hear the fat lady," 47 concurred explicitly and we tuned out
Huh, on the way out we nearly tripped over an alley cat blowing his modes for chomp change
And momma always told me to stay away from a man in his modal stage
So I made like I was fresh out of paper in hopes that the troll would let us pass without the toll
But he was hip to the scene and began writing rough shot at a moments notice
He took a drive, hit a ghost, lost his head, and now he's toast

Later we dug from Shorty George that the cat had bugged to the way outisphere some years ago
So no mayor cope out there, thank God
We decided to stop in at the dinner grill and dig Marty and Steve
And the baldy dinner head crowd, shooting craps over the last few slices of the day's ham hocks

"Here we divided the plunder," cried Huey

"As a young girl goes to the bridal chamber', Billie Est replied
"So go I to the grill with this tasty morsel!"

Pork went up and smacked them both for brutalizing the species
Suddenly, in walked Swing, and gassed the whole sphere with her indelible groovitude
"Bonsoir Keskies," said she
"It's sunset time, and I've got the moon chariot to prove it"

I dug through the icing glass the sweetest little ride I'd ever seen
Swing smiled that sly smile of hers and we tuned out
It's been that way ever since
Just Swing, 47 and moi, in a beauty spin, all across the hippisphere

Never mind the kin, we are gone, Keith
Solid gone