Piri Thomas in his office at home. Photo by Nic Paget-Clarke.

Barrio blues, barrio blues, barrio blues
for me and you.

Disappointment
lurking like a doggone hound,
Smirking his doggone smile,
For old times' sake,
I put my toot down
on a pothole can in town.
And I feel like a bottom with no end in sight.
Brown man, like a moonless night.

Barrio blues, barrio blues,
I'm talking about barrio blues.

I bitch a lot, man, understand'?
Brown man down, like felt on a bum's hat,
so greasy to the touch, which ain't much.

Yet, diggit, bro, hey sis,
It's a hell of a feeling
That sends your soul reeling
It strangles, pushes, pushing, pushed.
It grinds into your little sack, jack.
11 goes against your will, Jill.

It makes you want more than the little you never got,
so now I'm asking for more.

And you get scared baby,
I mean real damned scared.
Like you're all alone, like no one's at home,
like you're all alone, and no one near about
to hear your angry shout
At some life putting you down.
And like, you're played out Pa-pee-o.

Oh, your joints hurt
and it's a la goody good, good.
I said your joints hurt
and it's a la goody good, good.
Oh, that hurting cosa thing
behind your Adam's apple,
that diggy old voice,
that bottled-up kick.
that bottled-up kick.

Damn, oh damn, damn damn damn,
I did want that job,
but I was the wrong color.
Hear that sisters,
hear that brothers,
I was the wrong color.