Drunk and starving, really
hoping
That there’s somewhere
still left open
Empty streets, no cars,
alone
No battery left on my
phone
In the dark a gentle glow
Of neon red and bright
yellow
4am, the clock is ticking
Looks like Kansas City
Chicken
Wander on toward the
beacon
Hope I’m capable of
speaking
Pat my pockets, check for
change
Close one eye to focus
Seems a lot of gold in
there
But counting it proves
hopeless
Blinded by the dazzle of
the gaudy menu boards
Chap behind the counter says
“What can I do you for?”
I ask him what he
recommends
He says “the chicken’s
nice”
I say “yeh, that sounds
good to me.” And ask him for the price
I kinda see his mouth
moving but struggle keeping track
I pour a load of coins on
him, he hands half of them back.
Here’s your 12 pieces of
chicken
In your bucket to be sick
in
Not exactly finger lickin
But it’s Kansas City
Chicken
Stumble home and scoff it
all
Chuck the box over a wall
Feeling good, alive and
kickin
Can’t beat Kansas City
Chicken
