Lyrics

[Intro – CALEB, quietly awed, speaking to himself]
CALEB:
Tuesday ain’t just a name on a wheel,
It’s a gravity. A mood. A damn holy meal.
You don’t arrive. You’re pulled. Like truth from a tooth.
And you never quite leave… that’s the uncooked truth.
[Verse 1 – CHRISTINA, licking a spoon that glows faintly]
CHRISTINA:
Ms. Mae’s got walls made of cinnamon breath,
And I once saw a spoon kiss a man to death.
I got a booth in the back that hums my name,
And a ghost I divorced still playin’ love games.
Time here? Optional. Logic? A dance.
One biscuit in, you forget your last chance.
I’m a witch, sure—but this place got rules.
And the forks got feelings, so don’t be cruel.
[Hook – ALL CHARACTERS, together like a drunken gospel choir]
🎵 Everyone shows up on Tuesday.
Whether walkin’ or weepin’, you’re bound to stray.
The bell don’t ring—it calls your name,
And what you were before? Ain’t quite the same.
No clocks, no maps, no linear roads—
Just chicken, and truth, and impossible codes.
So pull up a chair, forget what you knew—
Tuesday remembers for you. 🎵
[Verse 2 – FRANK, holding a fish and speaking slowly]
FRANK:
Eggs don’t lie, and that’s a fact.
Crack one open, and time cracks back.
I served a haddock here once that preached in Greek.
Then floated off with a potato leak.
People think it’s madness—but nah, it’s just fried.
You drop into Tuesday when your soul gets wide.
The air here’s coded in cornbread syntax.
I read it. I dream it. I fax it to snacks.
[Verse 3 – GLEN, from the booth, pounding the table]
GLEN:
FUCKING SLAYER!
This chicken’s got teeth!
It bit me once—and gave me belief.
Motörhead played here. Real amps. Real sweat.
They summoned a banshee with their third set.
I screamed so loud my beard caught fire.
Ms. Mae handed me tea and said, “Try to aspire.”
This ain’t no diner—it’s a flaming shrine.
Where grease is god, and the napkins sign.
[Bridge – MOTÖRHEAD (as a haunted jukebox)]
🎸 LEMMY (voice only):
We never left—we live in the sound.
Every Tuesday, we rattle the ground.
This ain’t purgatory, it’s a rock-n-roll stew.
Order a side of distortion with your chicken, too.
[Verse 4 – TERRY, grinning, eyes closed]
TERRY:
Ishhhhhhh.
Don’t speak it. Feel it.
The chicken don’t lie, the floorboards reveal it.
One step left and I’m five days old,
One breath right and the silverware’s bold.
This place is breathin’, and I’m just a lung.
Tuesdays? Eternal. Tuesdays stay young.
And if you ish just right, and tilt your eye—
You’ll see the gravy… whisper goodbye.
[Final Chorus – ALL CHARACTERS, triumphant and insane]
🎵 Everyone shows up on Tuesday.
Wanderers, weirdos, the haunted, the fey.
There’s poetry in the slaw, sermons in pie,
And the hushpuppies hum when the lost pass by.
Ms. Mae don’t ask, she just pours your tea—
You’re home now, sugar, whoever you be.
No clock ticks true, no shadow stays—
But here you are… caught in Tuesday’s blaze. 🎵
[Outro – MS. MAE, calm and direct from the kitchen]
MS. MAE:
"Seat’s open. Chicken’s hot.