His old man called him
a simple feller of simple wantins'

and simple thoughts. A man filled with
bourbon-breath from labor in

them open fields; masked in silver
bristles from

his whinin' little ones. When ya
asked if he liked rock n'roll

he'd nod his head
and then start dancin' to

some groovy jazz by Duke Ellington;
it's funny though, cuz

this guy, this simple man
would keep on noddin'

and keep on dancin' until
his gal came to pick him up.

And when she arrived, all perty and
young-like, he'd take out his kerchief

and start wipin' her brow. But she'd
tell him no, like a ma to her girl.

So he'd leave alone and wander on
home down Carsey Avenue and

over Hunley Boulevard; then he'd stop
before his door. He'd drop his knees

and raise his crumbly hands to
the sun bleached sky,

prayin', prayin',
not to be so simple.