Funky Munky, Funky Junkie - Poem by AaI Harvey
Funky Munky, Funky Junkie.
Marcelle the monkey, sang since he was a boy,
As he traveled with the circus around the nicer parts of France.
Marcelle had talent, he could copy their words,
He could sing in tune and boy could he dance.
With his hat in his hand and his small wooden cane,
The people they loved him and they cheered him along.
He knew nothing of drugs, he knew nothing of cocaine,
He had fame and a fortune, thanks to his songs.
But one day came a man,
who showed Marcelle what he'd been missing.
He got Marcelle drunk on red wine and a bottle of whiskey.
Until Marcelle fell on his backside, with his tail between his legs,
He held his head in his hands and said 'I'm going to bed.'
'Wait Marcelle! ' said the man, 'If you’re feeling tired,
I've got this white sugar powder, that will give you some energy,
It will make you feel great, it will cure your hangover.'
Then he gave Marcelle some cocaine
and Marcelle felt kind of funky.
'Man I love this stuff! Have you got anymore? '
The man, he just smiled and simply said 'Sure.'
This started his downfall, for Marcelle didn't want to sing,
He just wanted the cocaine, so he could feel like a king.
He gave some to his lady, a monkey named May,
Then he fucked her all night and all the next day.
Then Marcelle quit the circus and he travelled with the man,
Until he'd spent all his money and got dumped out of the van.
The funky monkey, sings the blues,
The funky junkie, his life in ruin.
In a jazz club in Paris, in a hat and waistcoat,
With a needle in his arm and a fine line of coke.
Now Marcelle sings in a jazz club, with a tear in his eye,
Now Marcelle no longer feels good, he just sits there on his own.
His addiction has cost him everything
And his ladies gone back home,
She left him lying there in his own piss and sick all alone.
He's lying in his bed, with a needle in his arm,
This is his last night on Earth, for tomorrow never comes.
He's lost all his talent and he's lost all his charm,
Now Marcelle's a musical dropout, now Marcelle is just a bum.
The funky monkey used to be famous,
He used to love those late night cheers.
He used to be something great,
Now he's just unknown and jeered.
So he takes his life tonight, when he O'D's on some gear,
So goodbye Marcelle the monkey, for you are no longer here.
(C) 2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Comments about Funky Munky, Funky Junkie by AaI Harvey
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe