Pratt Street

Pratt Street that street where I
Was born and raised

I know that no one knows me
As I walk along this street
Revisiting the town that made a
Traveler out of me
I hear a mother screaming at her
Kid that's done some wrong
Daddy's gonna bust your hide
When he gets home
Well, somewhere beans're cooking and they
Smell about half done
I see a young girl hanging clothes
To dry out in the sun
She sees me looking at her and
I guess it makes her sore
She says ain't you ever seen a bra before

Two women lean across an
Old white weather-beaten fence
One smiles at me and waves her beer
And says hey come on in
She tosses back her head when
She discovers I won't speak
Hey, you're not allowed to sell
Things on this street
Well, the factories're hummin' as they
Did so long ago
Pratt Street is now blanketed with
Thirty years of smoke
An old man tries in vain to
Put a muffler on a car
With a hammer and a rusty pair of pliers

I flag a taxi down and ride
On back to my hotel
Things may change in heaven but
They'd never change in hell
They say you can't go home again
But brother I was there
And I suspect the people just don't care