Homecoming, homecoming.
No more down-dumbings,
no more other people’s flats-slummings: I’m
homecoming, homecoming.
No more side of the road lift-thumbings,
no more all of my life up-gummings,
no more soul-numbing depth-plumbings,
homecoming, homecoming.
My name is Jerome, when I last took a comb
to the hair on my dome and it shone like chrome
I was guitar-thrumming, some birds humming.
Now I’m homecoming, homecoming.
And I know Ma ‘n’ Pa could have brung me by car,
cos it ain’t all that far through the Muzzipat Scar...
Still: homecoming, homecoming.
My name is Jerome. I’m coming home.
Homecoming. Homecoming.
