I was born in Missouri
Saint Louis that is 

My father was murdered when I was six
His body found on my seventh birthday
by the river front
downtown saint Louis

Saint Louis

A city where saints are hard to find
And they for damn sure aren’t a dime a dozen


There are many children in the slums
with potential to be geniuses
but their genius is stagnated by parents
Who smack them across the lips
Because the parents cannot answer 
the questions the children ask

An environment that produces survivors
Too busy with bread and butter issues 
To worry about current events

My love for people in St. Louis will never pale
For that matter 
I have love any place 
where black folks dwell
Because many of us are living in hell 
Whether on hot blocks  
or cold jail cell or on open fields 
where our ancestors spirits are still felt

we are faced with life and death decisions
as some of us witness childhood friends
crowd cemeteries and prisons
or find ourselves in those hot beds

St. Louis Blues are like any other ones
And perhaps if you lower your voice 
And listen

You can hear troubled souls
Playing guitars in the wind
Or hear the laughing of your dearly departed kin
Watching tears drop 
from the eyes of God's children

St. Louis Blues

Hard times are disguised
With smiles of old folks
Or young children cracking jokes
And playing double dutch
Parents find themselves 
in unbelievable ruts
still they believe in God 
instead of luck

St. Louis Blues

You can hear the tunes
Of troubled souls
All of them have stories
Both Joyous and tragic
caring and cold
From the young to the old
But most
will never be told