Brooks Forsyth - Oh Mama, Hallelujah Lyrics

You got the hang dog look and you're feelin' blue
It seems your lucky stride is a-finally through
You had a-mighty heavy dose of what is really true
And now you're a puddle of nerves
Oh mama, hallelujah
What's a poor boy to do?

Well you see a politician from the government
He's speakin' on the budget and the way it's spent
And you're tryin' to decipher what he really meant
But he used so many big words
Oh mama, hallelujah
What's a poor boy to do?

Well your tryin' to get a readin' on how you feel
And you're dwellin' on the loss of tomorrow's appeal
It's gruelin' ontological search for what's real
Oh you should have read the book
Oh mama, hallelujah
What's a poor boy to do?

Godard and Fellini sittin' in the park
Talkin' I Vitelloni and A Band Apart
New wave, surrealism, what is art?
I'm not sure, let's go get lunch
I'm hungry, I'm starvin'
What's an auteur to do?

Well your dreams are read shiftin' in the doppler effect
There're self-revelations that you gotta dissect
You get a call to action but it's callin' collect
And you ain't got no spare change
Oh mama, hallelujah
What's a poor boy to do?

Mr. Alpha Man Omega, Mr. Imposter
You can call me Queequeg, you can call me sir
You can call me anything, anytime you prefer
But I might not answer the door
Oh mama, hallelujah
What's a poor boy to do?