Mean Mr. Mustard says he’s bored

of life in The District.

Can’t afford the French Quarter high

says it gets old real quick

and he pales up next to me

scrawled on the pavement

It says: Son, time is all the Luck

you need.



And if I stay Lucky then my tongue

will stay tied, and I won’t betray

the things that I hide.

There’s not enough years underneath

this belt, for me to admit the way

that I felt.



Mean Mr. Mustard says don’t be

the wave that crashes

From a sea of discontent, he says

he’s wrestled with that blanket...

It leaves you cold and wet

any way you stretch it

Divine apathy! Disease of my youth

watch that you don’t catch it