Big Black Moses

[chorus]Big black Moses works at the foot of Ossington[/chorus] folks more colourful there than in Little Portugal; women and men in transit, don’t know what to make of it where the Queen car stops in fits, east to west Parkdale to Bellwoods, "this is nutbar territory" you overhear but October’s meaner than summer now, not much love for 'nutters' even here [chorus]Big black Moses works at the foot of Ossington[/chorus] Moses wades into roadway, parts the traffic rubdown rag in hands, attacking windshields at the lights drivers protest, wave away, sometimes they honk he frightens two skittish teenage girls chases pretty Asian women along the walk (what are we supposed to do?) I’m fixated by the spectacle enthralled by his nerve, such earnest discomfort [chorus]Big black Moses works at the foot of Ossington[/chorus] Moses has no place to live, except with himself and it can’t be easy, that crowd —and we’re a tough Monday afternoon crowd— when no one sees what he sees, Lord knows what his coping mechanisms are: bushy white beard, felt bowler, brass crucifix and a scorching case of schizophrenia —but Moses works his corner like a bloodhound he networks like an MBA. [chorus]Big black Moses works at the foot of Ossington Big black Moses works at the foot of Ossington[/chorus] So, if you want out of the ordinary, head to Ossington and Queen in the afternoon and look for Moses and his pals: they may entertain you for a token or loonie; most people say “sorry” and look away, and it’s tough holding that loonie after 15 minutes' wait but I too say “sorry” and look away, how else can I make it on the 501 in one piece? you see Moses really asks too much—and my conscience needs some sleep. [chorus}Big black Moses works at the foot of Ossington Big black Moses works at the foot of Ossington I say I say I say... Big Black Moses.... Big Black Moses[/chorus]