Melinda Jason Robert Brown

[Verse 1]
Friday morning, early summer
Momma's still laying deep dead asleep
With the curtains drawn and her head underneath the blanket
Crack the front door, up the stairwell
Past the stink of the frying and the dying
And I hit the roof of my transistor out and crank it

[Verse 2]
Friday morning, seven-thirty
New York City, grand and dirty
Creeping out of the shadows like a whore
Look around, somewhere near, in the ground
I can hear there's a sound no one's ever noticed before

[Chorus]
Down there on the street, someone's playing salsa
Someone's playing disco
Someone's making something burn
Someone plugged in a guitar and is shooting fireworks
And I say, "Melinda, when's it gonna be my turn?"
Oh

[Verse 3]
Friday midnight, try to find me
I'm the boy with his feet on the street
Hunting down the sound with his ear, like an antenna
Through the kitchens, past the bouncers
Those cabrons with the shades and the blades
Enjoying their latest shipment from Cartagena