Call Up LaRue

Got no beans.
Got no shoes.
My last resort:
Call up LaRue.

Call up LaRue or LaRue’ll call up you.
Got no chance but out the back door & mighty soon.
Mighty soon. The Back door. Back door.

No number in
the phone book, no.
Just skulls & bones.
Clock quarter to four.

Walk down to the water
to his tiki shack.
Prowling the pier:
his pitch black cat.

Call up LaRue or LaRue’ll call up you.
Got no chance but out the back door & mighty soon.
Mighty soon. The Back door. Back door.

Knock-knock creakin’ open,
behind the door LaRue.
Good two heads on his shoulders,
belly round as the moon.

“Tell me your life.
I’ll listen awhile.
Have a seat, won’t you?”,
cackles croc-toothed LaRue.

Call up LaRue or LaRue’ll call up you.
Got no chance but out the back door & mighty soon.
Mighty soon. The Back door. Back door.

Floor opens up
beneath your feet.
Down the trap door,
under the sea.

Not much to see
in the abyss,
just our submarine
and the skeleton fish.

Got a new life now,
pays subterranean dues.
Ranging through deep waters
on the crew of LaRue.

Call up LaRue or LaRue’ll call up you.
Got no chance but out the back door & mighty soon.
Mighty soon. The Back door. Back door.

(4/14-4/16/2017 – Adams Point, Oakland, California)

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