So I rushed to see the Russian, asking him excitedly about Roscoes and the missing songs. I think I interrupted him doing something, I noticed an accordion shoved hastily under a chair.
“Waht, you don’ wan’ gasoline?”
I asked him again about Roscoes. He flew into a rage, broke his Vodka bottle, and came at me with it.
“Nobody goes there, you unnerstan’! Nobody!”
I managed to escape with a few scratches. Maybe I’d have better luck with the Chinaman.
Something ominous is going on here.
Safari
There’s boys on my savannah
My trigger finger’s itchin’ yeah
Gonna get me a tailfeather
I’m going on safari yeah
I’m obliged to my savannah
Watching the herds graze
If the river rise today
I hope my family gets away
I’ll call my wife tomorrow
Do the children like the toys?
Then there’s nothing left to talk about.
I won’t talk about these dead boys.
I know what they did.
They know what they did.
Gonna hunt them down, safari yeah.
My life is flat like savannah.
It’s hard to understand it
when it lays across my heart, feather light
This boy is just a man.