Full Throttle

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I'm your mean city genie
and you're my bad witch from the north.
we're in this together.
no more early to bed, early to rise.
stoic me is out of the bottle.

tomorrow the Brooklyn Bridge,
I'll scuttle up that arch we call the castle wall.
cry out "my name is Stan Lee.
I'm running for President.
I was unemployed in the golden fields of California."
cops will come.
I'll offer them a sip of your magic brew.
tell them that mental hospitals don't work.
that a bad moon is rising.
that I know all about Socrates, Plato and Aristotle.
they'll say yeah. yeah. yeah.
then carry me off.
in the holding cell,
I'll insist we rename the Empire State Building
the New Humperdinck Tower.
got my courtroom plea planned.
don't know what we'll tell the kids.

next week Yankee Stadium,
three thousand feet down.
this is sacred ground.
can't say what the cops will do.
fans will want to kill me.
put me in their compost pile.
play ball! play ball! I'll cry.
I love the Bronx Bombers.
is Mickey Mantle buried here? 
I need meaning in my life.
I need the name of a god.
I'll run towards the dugout.
dearie, pleasing you is a difficult task.
guards will seize me. deploy cuffs.
look for me on the evening news.
you think I've got a comedy career ahead?

just bought us a 1500cc Hog,
a sleek American beauty.
together we'll flee down green street.
wail with the wind.
no top-notch cop will catch us.
yes, your hot rod hero
will fire up his folly full throttle.

by the way, before sleep last night,
I swore I heard you
whisper in my ear:
"go barefoot over the flames."