| Jack Kerouac Poetry from San Francisco Blues |
| 1st Chorus I see the backs Of old Men rolling Slowly into black Stores. |
| 3rd Chorus 3rd Street Market to Lease Has a washed down tile Tile entrance once white Now caked with gum Of a thousand hundred feet Feet of passers who did not go straight on Bending to flap the time Pap page on back With smoke emanating From their noses But slowly like old Lantern jawed junkmen Hurrying home with the lump Wondrous potato bag To the avenues of sunshine Came, bending to spit, & shuffled awhile there. |
| 10th Chorus Dig the sad old bum No money Presuming to hit the store And buy his cube of oleo For 8 cents So in cheap rooms At A M 3 30 He can cough & groan In a white tile sink By his bed Which is used To run water in And stagger to In the reel of wake up Middle of the night Flophouse Nightmares-- His death no blackern Mine, his Toast's Just as well buttered And on the one side. |