I come around here often. Hell, I’ve lived
Here all my life; on the street
Where brothers sell and white men preen
On hoods of Cadillac cars. In seedy dives
Where tenor saxes swoon and pianos thrive
On warbling B-flat nines, I repeat
A-tisket A-tasket; it’s the sidewalk beat,
And you hoot and whistle when I arrive.
After shows, up crooked stairs I climb,
Stroll past the joints that pay only in dimes.
And all remaining trees have naked branches
From children making their daddy’s beatin’ switches.
I tell you, when I’m singing Stormy Weather,
All I hear is lighting and cracking leather.