| Born of the river,
|
| Born of its ever-changing, never-changing murky water
|
| Oh riverboat just rollin’along through the great great greasy city Huck
|
| standing like a Saint, upon its deck
|
| If ya wanna catch a Saint,
|
| then bait ya hook, let’s take a walk…
|
| 'O come to me!, O come to me!'is what the dirty city
|
| say to Huck… HUCK
|
| woah-woah, woah woah!
|
| woah-woah, woah woah!
|
| Saint Huck! |
| Huck!
|
| Straight in the arms of the city goes Huck,
|
| down the beckonin’streets of op-po-tunity
|
| whistling his favorite river-song…
|
| And a bad-blind nigger at the piano
|
| Buts a sinister blooo lilt into that sing-a-long
|
| Huck senses somthing’s wrong!
|
| Sirens wail in the city,
|
| and lil-Ulysses turn to putty
|
| and Ol Man River’s got a bone to pick!
|
| and our boy’s hardly got a bone to suck!
|
| He go, woah-woah, woah woah!
|
| woah-woah, woah woah!
|
| Saint Huck! |
| Huck!
|
| The mo-o-o-on, its huge cycloptic eye
|
| watches the city streets contract
|
| twist and cripple and crack.
|
| Saint Huck goes on a dog’s-leg now
|
| Saint Huck goes on a dog’s-leg now
|
| You know the story!
|
| Ya wake up one morning and you find you’re a thug
|
| blowing smoke rings in some dive
|
| Ya fingers hot and itchin, ya cracking ya knuckles
|
| Ya bull neck bristling…
|
| Still Huck he ventures on whistling,
|
| and Death reckons Huckleberry’s time is up,
|
| O woah woah woah!
|
| Saint Huck!
|
| O woah woah woah!
|
| Saint Huck! |
| Huck!
|
| Yonder go Huck, minus pocket-watch an’wallet gone
|
| Skin shrink-wraps his skeleton
|
| No wonder he gets thinner, what with his cold’n’skinny dinners!
|
| Saint Huck-a-Saint Elvis, Saint Huck-a-Saint Elvis
|
| O you recall the song ya used to sing-a-long
|
| Shifting the river-trade on that ol’steamer
|
| Life is but a dream!
|
| But ya traded in the Mighty ol’man River
|
| for the Dirty ol’Man Latrine!
|
| The brothel shift
|
| The hustle’n’the bustle and the green-backs rustle
|
| And all the sexy-cash
|
| And the randy-cars
|
| And the two dollar fucks
|
| O o o ya outa luck, ya outa luck
|
| Woah-woah-woah-woah
|
| Saint Huck! |
| Huck!
|
| This is the track of deception
|
| leads to the heart of despair
|
| Huck whistles like he just don’t care
|
| but in the pocket of the jacket is a chamber
|
| Lead pellets sleeps in there
|
| Wake Up!
|
| Now Huck whistles and he kneels
|
| and he lays down there
|
| See ya huck, good luck
|
| A smoke ring hovers above his head
|
| And the rats and the dogs and the men all come
|
| and put a bullet through his eye
|
| and the drip and the drip and the drip of the Mississippi cryin’And Saint Huck
|
| hears his own Mississippi just rollin’by him Woah-woah-woah-woah
|
| Woah-woah-woah-woah
|
| Saint Huck! |
| Saint Huck! |
| Saint Huck!
|
| Woah-woah-woah-woah
|
| Woah-woah-woah-woah
|
| Saint Huck! |
| Saint Huck! |
| Saint Huck!
|
| Woah-woah-woah-woah |