Ever since I cracked my egg,
ever since I was a squab,
people been jacking nickels,
jacking nickels from couch cushions.
That’s why my fluff --
That’s why my feathers tousled.
See my eyes?
They wasn’t born like this.
No they was born gray
like my brothers',
but the smoke!, the smoke
turned 'em orange.
People been littering in my house.
Sunflower seed scabs fall off
their plastic fingers. French fries,
hot dog buns, granola crumbs:
that’s my breakfast.
That’s my breakfast!
But this, this is my house.
That spot you’re sitting in right now?
I’ve shat in that spot five times.
Five times that spot was my bathroom
before you sat there.
It’s still gonna be my bathroom after.
You ever seen a pigeon ass up close?
Jackson Pollock ain’t got shit on my ass.
I dropped a mural in the foyer.
I call it my Fowl Welcome Mat.
Speaking of ass,
you ever seen a pigeon man
sweet talk a lady?
Our whole necks swell up
like a sparkly indigo scrotum
balloon, and they run
away.
That’s how we know they like it.
We watch their scaly pink legs scuttle past,
bouncing like bubble gum,
red noodles the color of flamingo sex.
So we say,
"Nice legs!"
It’s a compliment.
But pigeon ladies wouldn’t know
a bouquet from a dandelion,
a mirror from a clean glass window
if it hit 'em in the nose.
You know how ladies are:
finicky feathers, walking around,
beaks in the air all offended
like they ain’t strut past
my burnt cantaloupe eyes on purpose.
Speaking of strutting,
Somebody put a boot in my spleen.
Yesterday somebody put their boot
in my spleen, like I was a soda can,
or a rock, or piece of shit.
But this is my house
Know what I’m saying?
I live here. This is my-- I’m not a football.
I live here, people should see me.
See my eyes?
They wasn’t born like this.
My eyes were the color of clean cement
before people with their smoke
in my house turned my eyes to this
tangerine mush so when I say,
"Hello!"
ladies roll their eyes away like silver
marbles like I’m contagious or-or
invisible so I say,
"Hey! You!
Sweety pie!
You look good!
Nice legs!
Fine, sexy legs!
Nice thighs!
I see you!"
And they run away.
So I chase. I say,
"Hey, wait,
I ain’t mean that
in a bad way, baby.
Come on.
Look at my apricot cellulite eyes,
my dirty couch chest, look, look
at my city shit feathers, look
how shiny nickel ball blue
I make my neck swell up just for you,
baby.
Just for you."
ever since I was a squab,
people been jacking nickels,
jacking nickels from couch cushions.
That’s why my fluff --
That’s why my feathers tousled.
See my eyes?
They wasn’t born like this.
No they was born gray
like my brothers',
but the smoke!, the smoke
turned 'em orange.
People been littering in my house.
Sunflower seed scabs fall off
their plastic fingers. French fries,
hot dog buns, granola crumbs:
that’s my breakfast.
That’s my breakfast!
But this, this is my house.
That spot you’re sitting in right now?
I’ve shat in that spot five times.
Five times that spot was my bathroom
before you sat there.
It’s still gonna be my bathroom after.
You ever seen a pigeon ass up close?
Jackson Pollock ain’t got shit on my ass.
I dropped a mural in the foyer.
I call it my Fowl Welcome Mat.
Speaking of ass,
you ever seen a pigeon man
sweet talk a lady?
Our whole necks swell up
like a sparkly indigo scrotum
balloon, and they run
away.
That’s how we know they like it.
We watch their scaly pink legs scuttle past,
bouncing like bubble gum,
red noodles the color of flamingo sex.
So we say,
"Nice legs!"
It’s a compliment.
But pigeon ladies wouldn’t know
a bouquet from a dandelion,
a mirror from a clean glass window
if it hit 'em in the nose.
You know how ladies are:
finicky feathers, walking around,
beaks in the air all offended
like they ain’t strut past
my burnt cantaloupe eyes on purpose.
Speaking of strutting,
Somebody put a boot in my spleen.
Yesterday somebody put their boot
in my spleen, like I was a soda can,
or a rock, or piece of shit.
But this is my house
Know what I’m saying?
I live here. This is my-- I’m not a football.
I live here, people should see me.
See my eyes?
They wasn’t born like this.
My eyes were the color of clean cement
before people with their smoke
in my house turned my eyes to this
tangerine mush so when I say,
"Hello!"
ladies roll their eyes away like silver
marbles like I’m contagious or-or
invisible so I say,
"Hey! You!
Sweety pie!
You look good!
Nice legs!
Fine, sexy legs!
Nice thighs!
I see you!"
And they run away.
So I chase. I say,
"Hey, wait,
I ain’t mean that
in a bad way, baby.
Come on.
Look at my apricot cellulite eyes,
my dirty couch chest, look, look
at my city shit feathers, look
how shiny nickel ball blue
I make my neck swell up just for you,
baby.
Just for you."
( Jamila Woods )
www.ChordsAZ.com