In Cambridge Massachusetts I get in it pretty deep,
a poor little junco on ivy beleaguered streets.
I sang a song of six pence about a grand corpulent moon,
it was over in a second not a second over soon.
I thumbed a ride to Boston where they offered me a hand,
I declined the invitation because I didn’t understand.

It all started in Virginia nineteen hundred sixty six,
just a little bit of nothing down below the mason dix.
Dogwood and magnolia trees, Coca-Cola and sweet tea,
Summers by the swimming pools, brothers breaking all the rules,
I dreamed a song of six pence about a grand corpulent moon,
It was over in a second not a second over soon.

I grew up straight I grew up strong while Watergate and Viet Nam,
flickered on the Magnavox, as I broke out in Chicken Pox.
Russia had her sights on us. Children climbed aboard the bus.
Parents raised an awful fuss, didn’t know whom else to trust.
The gas line formed around the block. The old Ford, it ran on fumes.
It was no age of innocence. Whitey landed on the moon.

They got this saying down in Texas about how not to make a mess,
but I messed around there anywhere, just like all the rest.
I sang a song of six pence about a grand corpulent moon.
It was over in a second not a second over soon.

As the gang and I together sang like kings upon the hill.
The fires that surrounded us, those fires are burning still.
As we wished upon a lone star I packed my meager grip,
and climbed aboard a caravan that too a mighty trip.
I took her love for granted but I guess it had to be.
The open road was calling but it wasn’t calling me.

They dropped me off in New Orleans.
Étouffée. Rice and Beans.
Heat just like a mothers womb.
The air a jasmine perfume bloom.
Jukebox full of rhythm blues.
Picayune ignored the news.
Highlife at that Sugar Park.
Big Muddy churning in the dark,
won me over in a second,not a second over soon.
I sang my song of sixpence and au claire du la lune.

We got that party rolling and mother nature intervened
and destroyed all that surrounded us in one chaotic scene.
The poor ones didn’t stand a chance, scattered by the circumstance.
The rich fared little better still, they grudgingly picked up the bill.

New York City, Philadelphia, Baltimore, D.C.
Asheville, Nashville are all the same to me.
I sang my song of six pence about a grand corpulent moon.
It was second after second ager second after soon.

I was whirling like a dervish. I was a dervish wreck.
I said hooray for Hollywood. She bit me on the neck.
I found my way to Washington up on Puget Sound.
I pitched my tent and found true love and finally settled down,
and never for one second or one second for one soon
will I chase my tail from hill to dale the way I used to do.

I’ve sung my song of six pence about a grand corpulent moon
and It ain’t over for one second nor one second for one soon.
I’ve had my fun. Don’t doubt me son. This ain’t my final tune.
My memories, like souvenirs, in flashes sometimes reappear,
like nickels from a slot machine or tremors from a fever dream,
or sweet familiar faces in all kinds of places
that didn’t have to like me but so often they just do,
as I sing a song of six pence and a grand corpulent moon.