Joy in Repetition

He liked to frequent this club down up on 36th,
Pimps and thangs liked to hang outside and cuss for kicks
Talking to no one in particular they say, "the baddest I am tonight,"
Four letter words are seldom heard with such dignity and bite

All the poets and the part-time singers always hang inside,
Live music from a band plays a song called "Soulpsychodelicide"
The song's a year long and had been playing for months when he walked into the place,
No one seemed to care, an introverted, this-is-it look on most of their faces

Up on the mic repeating two words, over and over again,
Was this woman he had never noticed before he lost himself in the articulated manner in which she said them
These two words, a little bit behind the beat, I mean just enough to turn you on,
For every time she said the words another one of his doubts were gone

Should he try to rap to her, should he stand and stare,
No one else was watching her, she didn't seem to care
So over and over she said the words 'til he could take no more,
He dragged her from the stage and together they ran through the back door

In the alley over by the curb he said, "tell me what's your name,"
She only said the words again, and it started to rain
Two words falling between the drops and the moans of his condition,
Holding someone is truly believing there's joy in repetition