The Further Adventures of Camel Jack

Posted: December 1, 1994 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

So the track’s float-flowin’ like the brew from the tap,
street-lethal cracka comin’ straight steppin’ attack.
I’m through messin’ with the system, gonna go my own route,
off-road past the Sphinx, Pyramids and I’m out.
There’s nothin’ but sand dunes as far as I can see;
no water or camel, the crazy diamond’s with me.
The sun’s droppin’ like a stone but still hotter than hell but
[here’s a little story that I’ve gots to tell] -Beastie Boys.
Three days ago, a cantina in Cairo —
I smoked my last hash and I’m runnin’ out of dough,
a man got shot, and he fell in my lap.
Bleedin’ on my jacket, he slipped me a sack.
Three thugs with scimitars come in through the gate.
Dyin’ guy starts firin’ so I made my escape,
so I find myself lost in the alleys and streets;
a turban cold creeps, so I put out his teeth.
Grabbed a tire iron from the back of a truck;
I took a look in the bag: a gem as big as a rock.
Glowing from inside, some ethereal quality —
I closed up my loot because I hear someone follow me.
Spent the night wide awake in the flat of this hooker,
paranoid in the john when the Thugee mistook her
for me in those sheets; she was kind, I was saddened
but I was out of the window to the awning like Aladdin.
They left one chump and the keys in the jeep
so I broke his head open then I sped up the street.
Over my shoulder I saw them Thugee come out,
waving wicked knives and they’re rather put out.
I wrecked the jeep into a fruit cart…
hoodlums on my heels but I’ve got a head start.
Slip throught the marketplace to a sidewalk cafe,
pasta sea swarthy faces, I made my way
to the rear of the joint, looking for the back door.
If I owned a Fedora, I’d feel like Harrison FOrd.
Indiana Jones and the Diamond of Despair.
I’ve got about ten minutes to find a new lair
where I can wait for the heat to die down…
dusk is a must to get out of town.
Two chairs and a table in the darkest corner,
the Gelato Vera of Cairo, all I need is a mocha.
Sweat pouring from my brow as I watch the front
for any sign, any signal or warning of chumps
and then I pause…I feel a knife in my ribs.
“Hand over the parcel and you might just live.
Reach slow — real slow — or in hell you’ll be fryin’”
so I reached in my jack for the sack with the diamond.
I put it out on the table; he stepped from the shade,
sat down in the other chair and polished his blade.
This is straight from the movies is what I thought,
He’s too damn pleased that I went and got caught.
Fat boy opens his mouth like he’s going to speak;
he looks over my shoulder and his knees go weak.
I don’t think, I grab the sack and I’m hittin’ the deck;
a hail of bullets breaks out and hits Homes in the neck.
Cafe screaming, blood’s spilling as the splinters are flying;
I’m crawling for the door — there’s no farm that I’m buying.
I get up and start running with the scared folk,
but there’s a shirtless Thugee waitin’ and the mo-fo is yoked.
I grab a pan in my hand to the side of his skull —
he blinks twice and shook his head — it didn’t faze him at all.
He reached for my arms so I went through his legs man.
I’m smooth, just like the Eggman.
Tall brick alleys with nowhere to go,
but I’ve got the crazy diamond and my life, though.
(to be continued…)

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