can't hear myself think, let alone talk
can't play the banjo on the damn boardwalk
when it gets to be about four o'clock
and the natchez pulls into dock

loud as a bull horn, shrill as a whistle
sore as a horse hair bow on a fiddle
rough as a rub board played with a spoon
that's the natchez calliope playin' out of tune

you can blow on a your tuba 'til you're all out of wind
you can pick your guitar 'til you break a string
i've tried 'em all, but you just can't win
'cause that calliope is driven by steam

loud as a bull horn...

i don't know why i love this city
it's so broke it's not worth fixin'
its reeds are bent and keys are missin'
it's so loud but no-one's listenin'
to the natchez calliope

©1996 Mike West

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