My nom d’voyage is McSween
I carry the proper papers
I seek the primal rhythms of the bush
I preserve great moments as they come
And sure this must be one

Brightly painted dancers on the screen
Are no more than a prelude to the ritual unfolding
No white man’s eyes have ever seen
The frightening finale, the rite that you’re beholding

Kulee Baba
Coming your way, every Sunday
Live from Nowhere

My suit is a bright Irish green
The color and cut are striking
I’m something of a standout in the crowd
Don’t chew on that power cable son
I guess I owe you one

Word with my chief engineer
We’ll mix with the mob for all the folks at home
I’m tasting the local beer
And half the crew is dancing in the foam

Kulee Baba
Coming your way, every Sunday
Live from Nowhere
Satellite relay, hello Broadway

Sweet holy Jesus, what a night
St. Augustine was right

The cameraman began the Kulee Baba
The telecast was over, our featured friends were gone
I hear there’s a bash in Camaroon
So long for now, we must be moving on…