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Immigrant Blues
A songwriter friend suggested I write a song about the immigrant experience.
This may not be quite in the class of Englishman in New York for that
genre, but I finally have something in my repertoire to pull out when some
heckler at open mic yells "IMMIGRANT SONGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!" at me.
Lyrics:
My parents came from the land of ice and snow and AK47s
They settled down in Chicago In a four-room place in Rogers Park
Teacher said for Halloween,
we could dress up like our favorite hero
I was the only boy in the second grade
Who looked like Joseph Stalin that day
Teacher asked me why I did it,
I looked up and I admitted
I'm an immigrant, I didn't know
In college I tried flirting
with an older girl named Julie Bevan
She was nearly twenty one, with
Abs of steel and thighs of milk and victory lips
One day after Chemistry, she invited me upstairs for coffee
I told her I don't drink the stuff,
Saddled up my bike and rode away
My roommate asked me why I did it
I looked down and I admitted
I'm an immigrant, I didn't know
A boy is easily confused
In a land where he sees double-v's
But double-u is what the locals say
Woe is to the boy who's lost
When 'w' and 'o' are crossed
And women, work, and wonderbras
And wooly wolves and wobbly cars
Are spoken different, written out the same
In the land of AK 47's
They changed leaders every generation
In '88 the news announcer
Said we'd picked George Herbert Walker Bush
The only president I'd ever known
Was Rappin' Ronnie Reagan
My civics teacher asked the class
"Why is it good to change the president?"
Teacher asked me "don't you get it?"
I looked around and I admitted
I'm an immigrant, I didn't know
