Let the bright colours come blushing gently back,
To the cherry blossom trees, around Pontiac.
And guys in, powder blue starter jackets
Down on the street,
Let them come up from the corners,
So light on their feet.

Let the ticker tape come cascading down
Above the greyhound station
Out at the edge of town.
And at the schoolyard fences,
Where the children shout,
Let the chains fall away and let them all rush out.
And all good things in time will melt away,
Pinklon Thomas is getting out of prison today.

Out to the curbside let the grandmothers come
And stand in red gingham dresses
In the afternoon sun.
And from the windows high above the street,
Let the trumpets sound,
And let confetti fill the air and gather on the ground.

Let the guys all hurry on down to the gym,
And throw the doors wide open,
And clear a s___e for him.
Let messages from strangers,
Spray painted on cheap drapes,
Hang from all the fire escapes.
Let them spell it out on marquees and on window displays,
Pinklon Thomas is getting out of prison today.

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