I'm a slow man?
Looking for a slow woman who wants to slow dance
I'm a slow

Looking for a slow woman who don't care that I'm old lookin'

Got my soul tooken back where the fallen angels land

I know Brooklyn like the back of a stranger's hand
Can't recognize my own?I wing it though
I bring it home

Familiarity's the first thing to go
Next thing you know?there's a photo that you're staring at
And you can't quite place the face that is staring back

Someone erased the names and the facts, dates on the back
Maybe they're just fading so fast
that you can't keep up with it.

Can't recover it
Lost in the shuffle of the Grand Prix hustlers
If you can't keep up to speed with the mother ship

and can't take the heat then your man needs the oven mitts
I can't be the judge of it,
my hands bleed

'cause they reached for some answers and got trampled by a stampede
of know-it-all homogeneous types, The look-alikes
The kids burn my music and the parents burn the books I write

I think back to those lonely Brooklyn nights
I was either soul searching or just looking for fights
Each woman had her price

The dice didn't roll right
All my jobs were odd ones,
my problems had bold type

Snow White didn't expect that I'd leave 'er
The strobe light set off epileptic seizures
I know right from wrong when I write these songs

My goals in life ain't what I set my sights on

Slow man...slow man...slow...slow


I'm a slow man?in my slow man stance
Looking for a slow woman who wants to slow dance

I'm a slow man in my slow man stance
Looking for a slow woman who don't mind my home cookin'


I'm no good when I'm a bad, bad man
My dance so slow that it looks like my last stand
But I'm a bad, bad man

My dance so slow that it appears to be a photo

And I'm a bad, bad man

My dance so slow, it appears to be my last stand
And I'm a bad, bad man
Imma' dance so slow, it looks like a photo


Truth be told
It takes more than having a picture taken for you to lose your soul