Lyrics

[Verse 1]
I got one hour, from eleven to noon
Been the same for twenty-two years,
It’s my holy day, my quiet tune,
My altar of sweet tea and chicken fried tears.

Ms. Mae, she blesses the plate like a priest,
Thigh, leg, wing, and a biscuit that sings,
I take my seat, hope for some peace,
But dammit, I feel that familiar sting.

[Chorus]
Can a man eat lunch without a witch?
Just one meal, no twitch, no glitch.
No demon in the gravy, no spell on the slaw,
No hollerin’ ghosts behind the bathroom stall.
Lord, I ain't askin' for glory or gold,
Just a hot plate and a roll I can hold.
But no—
Here she comes with her eyes like pitch...
Can a man eat lunch without a witch?

[Verse 2]
Ron Jr. at the corner table chewin’ too slow,
Talkin’ ‘bout Ricky Rabbit like that’s someone we know.
Ms. Kelly keeled over on her untouched plate,
Been dead three days but the coroner’s late.

Something in the cornbread’s whisperin' lies,
And the gravy’s startin’ to bubble like it’s tryin’ to rise.
I ain’t even touched my damn fried thigh—
But now the forks are dancin’ and the tea’s gone dry.

[Chorus]
Can a man eat lunch without a witch?
No cackles in the catfish, no hex on the grits.
No hag in the hushpuppies, croonin’ her charm,
No warlock hidden in the coat check arm.
I’m beggin’ the Lord, just one blessed bite,
Without having to banish another thing tonight.
But nah—
There she is, twitchin’ by the switch…
Can a man eat lunch without a witch?

[Bridge – Spoken or Half-Sung]
Ms. Mae lookin’ sideways, talkin’ 'bout rabbits and grief,
Blackberry cobbler been gone since last week.
And I’m sittin’ here starin’ at a meal I can’t touch,
Feelin’ that fire burnin’ low in my gut.

I swear on my boots, if this don’t let up—
I’m burnin’ this whole goddamn town for lunch.

[Final Chorus – With Fury]
Can a man eat lunch without a witch?
No snakes in the napkin, no spectral hitch!
Just a plate full of food, and a chair that don’t scream,
No weird-ass waitress with mind-control dreams!
Oh Lord—
I don’t need salvation or a holy pitch,
Just one goddamn Tuesday with no goddamn witch!

[Outro – Soft and low, like a prayer]
But he pushed back his chair,
Took off his hat,
Looked at the plate,
And whispered:

“Maybe next week, yeah? Just maybe next week...”