Mambo Cadillac

Drive me to the edge in your Mambo Cadillac,

turn left at the graveyard and gas that baby, the black

night ringing with its holy roller scream. I’ll clock

you on the highway at three a.m., amen, brother, smack

the road as hard as we can, because I’m gonna crack

the world in two, make a hoodoo soup with chicken necks,

a gumbo with a plutonium roux, a little snack

before the dirt and jalapeno stew that will shuck

the skin right off your slinky hips, Mr. I’m-not-stuck

in-a-middle-class-prison-with-someone-I-hate sack

of blues. Put on your highwire shoes, Mr. Right, and stick

with me, ‘cause I’m going nowhere fast, the burlesque

queen of this dim scene, I want to feel the wind, the Glock

in my mouth, going south, down-by-the-riverside shock

of the view. Take me to Shingles Fried Chicken Shack

in your Mambo Cadillac. I was gone, but I’m back

for good this time. I’ve taken a shine to daylight. Crank

up that radio, baby, put on some dance music

and shake your moneymaker, sweetheart, rev it up to mach

two. I’m talking to you, Mr. Magoo. Sit up, check

out that blonde with the leopard print tattoo. O she’ll lick

the sugar right off your doughnut and bill you, too, speak

French while she do the do. Parlez-vous francais? Okay, pick

me up tonight at ten in your Mambo Cadillac

‘cause we got a date with the devil, so fill the tank

with high-octane rhythm and blues, sugar cane, and shark

bait, too. We got some miles to cover, me and you, think

Chile, Argentina, Peru. Take some time off work,

‘cause we’re gonna be gone a lot longer than a week

or two. Is this D-day or Waterloo? White or black—

it’s up to you. We’ll be in Mexico tonight. Pack

a razor, pack some glue. Things fall apart off the track,

and that’s where we’ll be, baby, in your Mambo Cadillac,

‘cause you’re looking for love, but I’m looking for a wreck.

by Barbara Hamby

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1 Response Apr 20, 2009

Me Too Me Too. The burlesque and the licking sugar off off someone got me. :D