The Blue Avenue Girls

The Blue Avenue Girls
Wear ugly shoes
And sing out their windows
Play guitars on their fire escapes
Chew cherry gum

They stand toe-to-toe
When the men come to see
About rent
About water
About electricity

They wear dresses at night
And pants during the day

They drive up to the bar
Just to see who they haven't checked yet
Then they check them
Check them out
And return them

The Blue Avenue Girls
Speak in four-letter words
And sing-song
And poetry
The kind that Robert Frost didn't write
But would have
If he grew up
Somewhere where there weren't trees
And snow
And roads that don't go traveled

Every road comes through Blue Avenue
And if you live on Blue Avenue
You get stuck in a place
Where everything's moving
But you

You don't remember the last time you weren't hot
Or cold
Or broke
Or old

You don't remember the last good man
That stood down on the street
And waited for you
Without yelling to hurry up
So he could meet his friends
And spend all night
Watching the fight on the tv at the bar
Not even noticing when you sneak out
And walk back
To your crew on Avenue Blue

You don't remember the last time you thought
It might actually be possible to leave

In other words, you don't remember
The last time
You felt reasonable
Having a dream

The Blue Avenue Girls
Sign their checks
Earn their pay
Spend all day serving food
Being rude
Counting tips
And sifting out
The good advice the nice people
Who aren't from Avenue Blue
Couldn't even imagine being
From Avenue Blue
Don't have a clue
An inkling
A thought they could think
That would even come close
To what you know
Because you actually are
From Blue Avenue

The Blue Avenue Girls
See the Blue Avenue Boys
Buying toys for girls
From Green and Pink
And Plaid Street uptown

They think 'Fuck Billy Joel for telling these guys they're wise throwing money away when some of us can't pay to keep food in our kids' mouths'

See, the Blue Avenue Boys
Are doing
What the girls are not

Trying to get out

The Boys will transition
Using some girl from Green or Pink
Or Plaid Street uptown
To hoist themselves up
Up to the art galleries
And the nice office buildings
And the slice of life you can only see
On the cover of a fifties magazine

And the Girls will hold their babies
And put on earrings
And drink coke with no ice
And try to put their hair up
And stash hope in places
They think nobody can find it

And sometimes their daughters find it
And bring it back to them
And say--

'What's this?'

And they'll hold their girls
And bring them out on the fire escape
And light up a cigarette
And say they're bad mothers
And not believe a word of it
And play the guitar
And tell their girls it's cool

'You got me,' they say, 'It's cool'

To be here
To be girls
To be blue