Sometimes I'll have a tea. Sometimes a coffee. It really doesn't matter, you know? It's whatever gets my gravy going. Whatever keeps those juices flowing. Whatever let's me be your friend, you know? I thought it was that you were different. It wasn't that you were shrimping. But just a little wheel outside the window. Sometimes it's a jalopy. Sometimes it's your Sunday spring and coffee. But don't ever let me go. I was on the road to Aruba. I stopped and met a friend in Cuba. She was red-haired like the snow. I never make eggs and bacon. Because when I do I feel. Jamaican. And Jamaican is not what I want bro. I'm after the shimmering aisle. I'm after the cats in the pile. I'm after your feathers, bro.