cloud 9

he’s really not a bad sort
but when I’m in the lowest and darkest of
he always phones, and in a most cheerful
voice he’ll ask:
“how ya doin’, buddy?”
and I’ll have the same answer for
“I’m fucked, can’t find my way out.”
“oh, that’s too bad.   I’m on cloud 9.   need
somebody to drink with?”
“no, it’s all right.”
“well, remember my number, buddy.   give me a call
I hang up and look at the phone.
it’s light green.

if I can ever figure when that son of a bitch
comes down off his speed
I’ll dump him straight into his