Don’t know nothing bout that thing right there;
never wished to figure out what it’s concocted of
But they say it’s poison–that stuff right there;
ah put a jazzy spell on ya,
have you waltzing and day dreaming on pastel clouds,
singing bout moons and magic
But lord when it’s over, man when it’s gone…
You hear what I say?
I said that mess is poison–eats up all the insides,
Heart and spirit too!
That stuff right there is voodoo
You best to realize,
before you go jitter-bugging
and writing bout butterflies,
before you go drawing hearts
with y’all’s names inside
That stuff right there,
that thing right there,
that mess right there…?
Is poison child