Sid Arthur
was born into prominence
in a luxury Kiss and Ride suburb
up the trolley line north from
the city of Minsk
He didn't have any problem
recognizing what was yours,
because he had plenty of mine
all the way to Pinsk
His father was a King in
the mattress
lease and rental trade
Come to think of it,
this Prince had it made
His mother Maxine was a beauty Queen
and graced the courts of tennis at
her club in the Canyon Hills,
signing waiters' checks
And forwarding to
her assistant Monica
the rest of her bills
Pretty people wearing clothes
to fit their supple forms
and sensibility codes
Grand palaces of marble and
cypress were their summer abodes
Their son Danny Arthur
was oblivious to their ways
he trusted his instincts
I guess you could say
He was looking for someone
or something to beg, steal, or borrow
He threw caution to the wind
with no thought of tomorrow
After all it's still the best cure
when you need to re-invent yourself
on a cellular level
that's for sure, foot loose and fancy free
Sid Arthur was a Prince, his father was a King,
but his off-spring became a
man who earned his supper by learning how
to sing.
Sometimes being born a Prince
is akin to being born
a slave
it depends on the hand you were born to play
the apache kid