Steve Noonan – Goin’ Home

Steve Noonan: voice, guitar & harmonica
Produced by Steve Noonan
Recorded and mixed by Steve Noonan at the Bat Cave
(P) & (C) 2010 Steve Noonan
www.stevenoonan.com

“After over 40 years since my time in NYC, with a few of my earliest music friends (Adam, Greg & Jackson), it is nice to remember this event, with humor and amazement,
as it was a truly amazing time, but we have all grown since then,
and (three of us anyway) still speak of ‘Flat Mouth’ to this day.”





Late in the sixties, I lived a while, on the Lower East Side, less ’ in a mile
From the winding, but tame East River, 191 Stanton, that’s where the Super’s always rantin’
‘bout us bangin’ on the pipes on the nites when it gets so damn cold,
now, bein’ from up country an’ so naive, we found it hard to believe,
that some junkies‘d hang ‘round till we were gone, and steal whatever, they could pawn

I ‘member Daddy use to say, back on the farm, back in the day
“Ya make a scarecrow, when the birds, get in the corn”
Our funky clothes, all tattered-bare, might be enough to give a scare to city robbers,
late night or early morn
Greg had this flannel shirt he’d got up on Delancy St & Mott,
like his momma gave him, so many years ago
Jackson found some painter’s overalls, down at the Local Union Hall,
when he decided to paint my multi-colored hippie pad, completely white,
while I was out giggin’ or something one night
Adam’s boots and welding gloves,would raise the fear-factor above my old Fedora,
tilted way, way down, tellin ’em all, they best not be comin’ round

Goin’ Home, that’s where I’m bound, like to get back there again
Back To Home, and some solid ground, like a lonesome long lost friend

Now, we’d unscrew the light bulbs just enough, to dim the light,
and make it tough to see just what it was, down, at the dark end of the hall
That’s where we put our little man, his twisted legs could barely stand
His feet turned in, like an old country barn, about to crumble
an let me tell ya’, more’n once, I turned that corner round and jumped
like to scare the Sweet Be-Jesus out of me, but our protector stood his ground,
And much to our delight we found, we had no visitors, for a month or maybe more
And it was all quiet on the songwriter’s floor, and we called him Flat Mouth
Yeah, we called him Flat Mouth

See, he had this plump little face, cause well, we’d acted quite in haste
and used an' old stained feather pillow for his head,
an’ since he had no features fair, charcoal in hand
We drew them there, though you could not tell that at all, from that distance,
just a wrinkled little wrong
pityful funky leprechaun, waitin’ for ya there, in his welding gloves,
and our simple little plan, for our brave little man, even worked, for a little while

Late one night shit hit the fan,
the junkies soundin’ like the “Klan” had come to expound on their objection
To our fearless guardian, and as they came closer,
they began to see the true depth of our deception
The bravest lunged to grab a glove, tossing, the hat so high above the mob,
just cheered as they dragged him away
And, it was truly full of danger, you could say, but also natural wonder and play

Goin’ Home, that’s where I’m bound, like to get back there again
Back To Home, and some solid ground, like a lonesome long lost friend

Late in the sixties we went our ways, some off to India, some L.A.
But ‘fore we left, we saw where he had come to rest
His boots were by the super’s door, the gloves up on the artist’s floor
The shirt on an undercover narc at Pitt St and Ridge
The coat and hat were sheltering, a little round transvestite Queen sitting on his head,
under the Williamsburg Bridge
The overalls were taken in by gypsies who’d been tryin’ to win,
their 15 minutes of fame on the 'Price Is Right'
All could one day be complete, piled together, oh so neat, at the Thrift Store on Delancey St.

What I’ve come to know since then, is in each journey there’s a mend
For the challenges, we face, along the way
Many roads have curves & hills, but if you teach yourself you will,
find your reflection, there in your day
‘thout makin’ anybody wrong, just learnin’ how to get along, and end up with somethin’ nice to say

Goin’ Home, that’s where I’m bound, gonna get back there again
Back To Home, and some solid ground, and my welcome long lost friend
Goin’ Home, I’m goin’ home, I’m goin’ home

(Steve Noonan) – Steve Noonan Music -