It’s a long walk home
From Broadway to the Common:
Past red and white chicken shops,
Half empty chicken cartons and chips,
Trodden into the road.
With chicken grease and table salt
On their slack and wide lips
A few stray revellers
Shaking their hips,
And their bones -
Chicken legs in chicken suits
All over the stones.
It’s a long walk home,
But a taxi ride with the rest of them,
And their chicken brains and chicken moans,
Isn’t what you want
When you want your chicken
All your own.
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