Book of Blues

by Jack Kerouac

  To grow

  And come

  To A-mer-ri-kay

  And be long silent types

  In the night clerk cage

  Waiting for railroad calls

  And hints from Pakistan

  Beluchistan and Mien Mo

  That Mahatmas

  Havent left the field

  And tinkle bells

  And cobra flutes

  Still haunt our campfires

  In the calm & peaceful

  Night—

  Stars of India

  35TH CHORUS

  And speak bashfully

  Thru strong brown eyes

  Of olden strengths

  And bad boy episodes

  And a father

  With sacred cows

  A wandering in his field.

  “Rain on, O cloud!”

  The taste of worms

  Is soft & salty

  Like the sea,

  Or tears.

  And raindrops

  That dont know

  You’ve been deceived

  Slide on iron

  Raggedly gloomy

  36TH CHORUS

  Falling off in wind.

  I got the San Francisco blues

  Bluer than misery

  I got the San Francisco blues

  Bluer than Eternity

  I gotta go on home

  Fine me

  Another

  Sanity

  I got the San Francisco blues

  Bluer than heaven’s gate, mate,

  I got the San Francisco blues

  Bluer than blue paint,

  Saint,—

  I better move on home

  Sleep in

  My golden

  Dream again

  37TH CHORUS

  I got the San Acisca blues

  Singin in the street all day

  I got

  The San Acisca

  Blues

  Wailin in the street all day

  I better move on, podner,

  Make my West

  The Eastern Way—

  San

  Fran

  Cis

  Co—

  San

  Fran

  Cis

  Co

  Oh—

  ba

  by

  38TH CHORUS

  Ever see a tired

  ba by

  Cryin to sleep

  in its mother’s arms

  Wailin all night long

  while the locomotive

  Wails on back

  A cry for a cry

  In the smoke and the lamp

  Of the hard ass night

  That’s how I

  fee-

  eel—

  That’s how

  I fee-eel!

  That’s how

  I feel—

  What a deal!

  Yes I’m goin ho

  o

  ome

  39TH CHORUS

  Yes I’m goin

  on

  home

  today

  Tonight I’ll be ridin

  The 80 mile Zipper

  And flyin down the Coast

  Wrapt in a blanket

  Cryin

  And cold

  So brother

  Pour me a drink

  I got lots of friends

  From coast to coast

  And ocean to ocean

  girls

  But when I see

  A bottle a wine

  And see that it’s full

  I like to open it

  And take of it my fill

  40TH CHORUS

  And when my head gets dizzy

  And friends all laugh

  And money pours

  from my pocket

  And gold from my ears

  And silver flies out

  and rubies explode

  I’ll up & eat

  And sing another song

  And drop another grape

  In my belly down

  Cause you know

  What Omar Khayyam said

  Better be happy

  With the happy grape

  As make long faces

  And groan all night

  In search of fruit

  That dont exist

  41ST CHORUS

  So Mister Engineer

  And Mister Hoghead

  Conductor Jones

  And you head brakeman

  And you, tagman

  on this run

  Give me a hiball

  Boomer’s or any kind

  Start that Diesel

  All 3 Units

  Less roll on down that rail

  See Kansas City by dawn

  Or grass of Amarilla

  Or rooftops of Old New York

  Or banksides green with grass

  In April

  Anywhere

  42ND CHORUS

  I’d better be a poet

  Or lay down dead.

  Little boys are angels

  Crying in the street

  Wear funny hats

  Wait for green lights

  Carry bust out tubes

  Around their necks

  And roam the railyards

  Of the great cities

  Looking for locomotives

  Full of shit

  Run down to the waterfront

  And dream of Cathay

  Hook spars with Gulls

  Of athavoid thought.

  43RD CHORUS

  Little Cody Deaver

  A San Francisco boy

  Hung by hair of heroes

  Growing green & thin

  And soft as sin

  From the tie piles

  Of the railer road

  Track where Tokay

  Bottles rust in dust

  Waiting for the term

  Of partiality

  To end up there

  In heaven high

  So’s loco can

  Come home

  Con poco coco.

  44TH CHORUS

  Little heroes of the dead

  Found a nickle instead

  And bought a Borden half & half

  Orange Sherbert & vanil milk

  Trod the pavements

  Of unfall Frisco

  Waiting for its earthquake

  To waver houses men

  And streets to spindle

  Drift to fall at Third

  Street Number 6–15

  Where Bank now stands

  Jack London was born

  And saw gray rigging

  At the ‘barcadero

  Pier, His bier

  commemorated in marble

  To advertise the stone

  Of vaults where money rots.

  45TH CHORUS

  Inquisitive plaidshirt

  Pops look at trucks

  In the afternoon

  While Mulligan’s

  Stewing on the stove

  And Calico spreads

  Her milk & creamy legs

  For advertising salesman

  Passing thru from Largo

  Oregon where water

  Runs the Willamette down

  By blasted to-the-North
>
  Volcanic ashes seft.

  46TH CHORUS

  Babies born screaming

  in this town

  Are miserable examples

  of what happens

  Everywhere.

  Bein Crazy is

  The least of my worries.

  Now the sun’s goin down

  In old San Fran

  The hills are in a haze

  Of Shroudy afternoon—

  Bent withered Burroughsian

  Greeks pass

  In gray felt hats

  Expensively pearly

  On bony suffer heads

  47TH CHORUS

  And old Indian bo’s

  With no stockings on

  Just Chinese Shuffle

  Opium shoes

  Take the snaily constitutional

  Down 3rd St gray & lost

  & Hard to see.

  Tragic burpers

  With scars of snow

  Bound bigly

  Huge to find it

  To the train

  Of time & pain

  Waiting at the terminal.

  Young punk mankind

  Three abreast

  Go thriving downwards

  In the hellish street.

  48TH CHORUS

  Red shoes of the limpin whore

  Who drags her blues

  From shore to shore

  Along the stores

  Lookin for a millioinaire

  For her time’s up

  And she got no guts

  And the man aint comin

  And I’m no where.

  He aint done nothin

  But change hats

  And go to work

  And light a new cigar

  And stands in doorway

  Swingin the 8 inch

  Stogie all around

  Arc ing to see

  Mankind’s vast

  49TH CHORUS

  Sea restless crown

  Come rolling bit by bit

  From offices of gloom

  To homes of mortuary

  Hidden Television

  Behind the horse’s

  Clock in Hopalong

  The Burper’s bestfriend

  Ten gat waving

  Far from children

  Sadly waving

  From the balcony

  Above this street

  Where Acme Paper

  Torn & Tattered

  S’down the parade

  Thrown to clebrate

  McParity’s return:

  50TH CHORUS

  All ties in

  Like anacin.

  Well

  So unlock the door

  And go to supper

  And let the women cook it,

  Light’s on the hill

  The guitar’s a-started

  Playing by itself

  The shower of heaven notes

  Plucked by a gypsy woman

  In some old dream

  Will bless it all

  I see furling out

  Below—

  51ST CHORUS

  The laundress has bangs

  And pursy lips

  And thin hips

  And sexy walk

  And goes much faster

  When she knows

  The booty in her

  laundry bag

  Is undiscovered

  And unknown

  And so no cops watching

  she steps on it

  t’escape the Feds

  of Wannadelancipit

  Here in the Standard

  Building

  Flying High

  the

  Riding Horse

  A Red—

  52ND CHORUS

  None of this means

  anything

  For krissakes speak up

  & be true

  Or shut up

  & Go to bed

  Dead

  The wash is waving goodbye

  Towards Oakland’s russet

  I know there are huge clouds

  Ballooning beyond the bay

  And out Potato Patch,

  The snowy sea away,

  The milk is furling

  Huge and roly

  Poly burly puffy

  53RD CHORUS

  Pulsing push

  To come on in

  Inundate Frisco

  Fill the rills

  And ride the ravines

  And sneak on in

  With Whippoorwill

  To-hoo— To-wa!

  The Chinese call it woo

  The French les brumes

  The British

  Fog

  L A

  Smog

  Heaven

  Cellar door

  54TH CHORUS

  Communities of houses

  Caparisoned by sunlight

  On the last & fading hill

  Of America a-rollin

  Rollin

  To the Western Chill

  And delicacies of statues

  Hewn by working men

  Neoned, tacked on,

  Pressed against the sign

  Mincin

  Mincin

  To sell the swellest coupon

  Understand?

  Light on the fronts

  of old buildings

  Like in New York

  In December dusks

  When hats point to sea

  55TH CHORUS

  This means

  that everything

  has some home

  to come to

  Light has windows

  balconies of iron

  like New Orleans

  It also has all space

  And I have windows

  balconies of iron

  like New Orleans

  I also have all space

  And St Louis too

  Light follows rivers

  I do too

  Light fades, I pass

  56TH CHORUS

  Light illuminates

  The intense cough

  Of young girls in love

  Hurrying to sell their

  future husband

  On the Market St

  Parade

  Light makes his face

  reddern

  Her white mask

  She sucks to bone him dry

  And make him happy

  Make him cry

  Make him baby

  Stay by me.

  57TH CHORUS

  Crooks of Montreal

  Tossing up their lighters

  To a cigarette of snow

  Intending to plot evil

  And break the pool machine

  Tonight off Toohey’s head

  And the Frisco fire team

  Come howling round

  The corner of the dream

  58TH CHORUS

  Immense the rivets

  In the broadsides

  Of battleships

  Fired upon head on

  In face to face combat

  In the Philippines

  Anchored Alameda

  Overtime for toilets

  On Labor Day

  59TH CHORUS

  IL

  W

  U

  Has tough w
hite seamen

  Scrapping snow white hats

  In favor of iron clubs

  To wave in inky newsreels

  When Frisco was a drizzle

  And Curran all sincere,

  Bryson just a baby,

  Reuther bloodied up,

  —When publications

  Of Union pamphleteers

  Featured human rock jaws

  Jutting Editorialese

  Composed by angry funny

  redhead editors

  Walking with their heads down

  To catch the evening fleet

  And wave goodbye to sailors

  passing rosely dreams

  Into a sparkling cannon

  Gray & spicked & span

  To shine the Admiral

  In his South Pacific pan—

  60TH CHORUS

  No such luck

  For Potter McMuck

  Who broke his fist

  On angry mitts

  In fist fights

  Falling everywhere

  From down Commercial

  To odd or even

  All the piers

  Blang! Bang!

  I L W U had a hard time

  And so did N A M

  And S P A M

  And as did A M

  61ST CHORUS

  YOU INULT ME EVERY NIME, MALN BWANO

  Ladies and Gentle-man

  The phoney woiker

  You here see

  Got can one time

  In Toonisfreu

  Ger ma nyeee

  Becau he had

  no dime

  To give the con duck teur

  Yo see he stiffled

  For his miffle

  And couldnt cough a little

  Bill de juice ran

  down his Sfam.

  62ND CHORUS

  JULIEN LOVE’S SOUND

  “All

  right!

  Here we are

  with all the little lambs.

  Has anyone disposed

  of my old man

  Last night?

  Mortuary deeds,

  Dead,

  Drink, me down

  Table or two,

  Wher’d you put it

  Kerouac?

  The bottoms in your bag

  Of cellar heaven doors

  And hellish consistencies

  Gelatinous & composed