I Can't Know The Song Of The South
When My Needle Points North.
The Blue South Elegant With Lovely Lake
Eyes In A Smiling River On Fire Look At Me

Ape, The Tailor Whose Fine Linens He Knows
Makes A Man Out Of Safety Pins
Proud As An Indian
I Figure In Future Years I'll Be Stained By The Tears
Of Desperate Clinging

Miracle Girls Commercially Perfect
Excel At Port Authority
Shall I Run Out To Meet Your Hopes
Of Liquor, Tobacco & Chocolate?
Up On Chalkleg Mirror Mountain
Subtle And Juicy