Mr. Miyagi

The midnight air was unusually foggy
I was sitting at a bar with Mr. Miyagi
Drinking absinthe and eating Buffalo wings
Playing cribbage and talking ‘bout things
He got eight pegs for a double run
And said, “Losing sucks but winning sure is fun”
I thought about the cribbage board and inner peace
And how the jack of clubs was covered with chicken grease

Mr. Miyagi, it’s only a game
You always put “san” at the end of my name
I ask you to stop and you sneer and you scoff
And you tell me again to wax on and wax off

I had too much absinthe; I was feeling kind of groggy
I was getting my butt whooped by Mr. Miyagi
There was so much to learn, there was so much to know
But the night was so long and Miyagi was slow
The man, he used to be a guru of sorts
Now he’s getting fat and boozing up and smoking Newports
I could still be a black belt; it can’t be that hard
I want to learn to fight but we’re sitting playing cards

Mr. Miyagi, I’m starting to dread
I’ll never be able to kick you in the head
You take another drag and you choke and you cough
And you tell me again to wax on and wax off

I could be the next karate kid
I could do all the things that Ralph Macchio did
I’d be a whole lot better than Hilary Swank
She was good in “Boys Don’t Cry” but in that one she stank

That night my sheets were conspicuously soggy
I was thinking ‘bout my rap with Mr. Miyagi
I was sweating for confusion; I was sweating for shame
‘Cause he beat me at cribbage fourteen straight games
Maybe I should quit, maybe I should cry
Maybe my expectations were unreasonably high
Maybe there’s just something wrong with me
I can’t even climb a stupid bonsai tree

Mr. Miyagi, what else can I do?
You can’t get me a date with Elisabeth Shue
You just sit there eating beef stroganoff
And you tell me again to wax on and wax off