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.
this scoundrel is out of jail,
sniffing city lights.
I'm out of the bottle.

tomorrow the Brooklyn Bridge,
wires, cables, concrete,
perfect for my gnarled body.
I'll scuttle up that arch we call the castle wall.
cry out "my name is Stan Lee.
the comic book genius."
when the cops come,
I'll offer them a sip of your magic brew.
tell them I come from the golden
alleys of California.
that mental hospitals don't work.
they'll say yeah. yeah. yeah.
then carry me off.
in the holding cell,
I'll insist we rename the Empire State Building
the Daisy Duck tower.
tell them I've got skeletons in my closet.
wanna see them?
got my courtroom plea planned.

next week Yankee Stadium,
three thousand feet down.
this is sacred ground.
no telling what the cops will do.
fans will throw beer cans. curse. scream.
I'll cry I love the Bronx Bombers.
where's Mickey Mantle? 
I'll run towards the dugout,
and say my bladder is full.
I'm here to sell shampoo.
guards will seize me. deploy cuffs.
look for me on the evening news.

just bought us a 1500cc Hog,
a sleek American beauty.
I'll put on my fur coat.
together we'll flee down green street.
splash 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."