The Priest They Called Him Lyrics - Nirvana

"Fight tuberculosis, folks" 

Christmas Eve, an old junkie selling Christmas seals 

On North Park Street 

The "Priest" they called him 

"Fight tuberculosis, folks" 

People hurried by, gray shadows on a distant wall 

It was getting late and no money to score 

He turned into a side street and the lake wind hit him like a knife 

Cab stop just ahead under a streetlight 

Boy got out with a suitcase 

Thin kid in prep school clothes 

Familiar face, the Priest told himself 

Watching from the doorway. 

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"Reminds me of something a long time ago" 

The boy, there, with his overcoat 

Unbuttoned, reaching into his pants pocket for the cab fare 

The cab drove away and turned the corner 

The boy went inside a building 

"Hmm, yes, maybe," the suitcase was there in the doorway 

The boy nowhere in sight 

Gone to get the keys, most likely, have to move fast 

He picked up the suitcase and started for the corner 

Made it, glanced down at the case 

It didn't look like the case the boy had or any boy would have 

The Priest couldn't put his finger on what was so old about the case 

Old and dirty, poor quality leather and heavy 

Better see what's inside 

Photos 

He turned into Lincoln Park 

Found an empty place and opened the case 

Two severed human legs that belonged to a young man 

With dark skin, shiny black leg hairs 

Glittered in the dim streetlight 

The legs had been forced into the case 

And he had to use his knee on the back of the case to shove them out 

"Legs, yet," he said and walked quickly away with the case. 

Might bring a few dollars to score 

The buyer sniffed suspiciously 

"Kind of a funny smell about it" 

"It's just Mexican leather" 

"Well, some joker didn't cure it" 

The buyer looked at the case with cold disfavor 

"Not even right sure he killed it, whatever it is 

Three is the best I can do and it hurts 

But since this is Christmas and you're the Priest" 

He slipped three bills under the table into the Priest's dirty hand 

The Priest faded into the street shadows, seedy and furtive 

Three cents didn't buy a bag, nothing less than a nickel 

Say, remember that old Addie croaker told me not to come back 

Unless I paid him the three cents I owe him 

Yeah, isn't that a fruit for ya, blow your stack about three lousy cents 

The doctor was not pleased to see him 

"Now, what do you want? I told you!" 

The Priest laid three bills on the table 

The doctor put the money in his pocket and started to scream 

"I've had trouble! People have been around! 

I may lose my license!" 

The Priest just sat there 

Eyes, old and heavy with years of junk, on the doctor's face 

"I can't write you a prescription" 

The doctor jerked open a drawer 

And slid an ampule across the table 

"That's all I have in the office!" The doctor stood up 

"Take it and get out!" he screamed, hysterical 

The Priest's expression did not change 

The doctor added in quieter tones 

"After all, I'm a professional man 

And I shouldn't be bothered by people like you" 

"Is that all you have for me? One lousy quarter G? 

Couldn't you lend me a nickel?" 

"Get out, get out, I'll call the police I tell you" 

"All right, doctor, I'm going" 

Of course it was cold and far walk to rooming house 

A shabby street, room on the top floor 

"These stairs," coughed the Priest 

There pulling himself up along the bannister 

He went into the bathroom 

Yellow wall panels, toilet dripping 

And got his works from under the washbasin 

Wrapped in brown paper, back to his room 

Get every drop in the dropper 

He rolled up his sleeve 

Then he heard a groan from next door 

Room 18, the Mexican kid lived there 

The Priest had passed him on the stairs 

And saw the kid was hooked 

But he never spoke because he didn't want any juvenile connections 

Bad news in any language 

The Priest had had enough bad news in his life 

He heard the groan again, a groan he could feel 

No mistaking that groan and what it meant 

"Maybe he had an accident or something. 

In any case, I can't enjoy my priestly medications 

With that sound coming through the wall" 

Thin walls you understand 

The Priest put down his dropper 

Cold hall and knocked on the door of Room 18 

"Quien es?" 

"It's the Priest, kid, I live next door" 

He could hear someone hobbling across the floor 

A bolt slid, the boy stood there in his underwear shorts 

Eyes black with pain, he started to fall 

The Priest helped him over to the bed 

"What's wrong, son?" 

"It's my legs, seor, cramps 

And now I am without medicine" 

The Priest could see the cramps 

Like knots of wood there in the young legs 

Dark shiny black leg hairs 

"A few years ago I damaged myself in a bicycle race 

It was then that the cramps started" 

And now he has the leg cramps back 

With compound junk interest 

The old Priest stood there, feeling the boy groan 

He inclined his head as if in prayer, went back and got his dropper 

"It's just a quarter G, kid" 

"I do not require much, seor" 

The boy was sleeping when the Priest left Room 18 

He went back to his room and sat down on the bed 

Then it hit him like heavy silent snow 

All the gray junk yesterdays 

He sat there, received the immaculate fix 

And since he was himself a priest 

There was no need to call one