Wolf City
You are a pearl
Without pity
Your glory
Is like ice cream
Dripping on the skin of a girl
And your voodoo-graph
Is going to conquer the world
While the greyhound
Leans back in the president's chair
And thousands of children
On their way home
Gasp for fresh air
Your servants
Set up a lean-horse-monument
In the alley of cars
A queue with no end
And thousands of cows
Rush into bars
On a wall I see
Many strange signs
They say: Johnny B. Goode!

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