It’s just a plain old porch, a plain summer day
And I can’t wait for dusk
And with clammy hands, I hold my clammy face
I watched the sun come up, it must have been there for hours
And I don’t care to remember it now
I drink myself some peace and watch the sun go down
Now don’t get violent, and don’t start crying
Since it don’t matter at all what I do, well I
I’ll hang the picture that my little sister drew
And never tell her that I draw pictures too
Now don’t get violent, and don’t start crying
Since it don’t matter at all what you do
Well, I’ve got a head full of gravel, a bed full of fleas
Gonna play poker ‘cause I saw it on TV
I might do something useful if I wasn’t so dizzy
If tomorrow ever comes, just tell it that I’m busy
One part Dark Eyes, one part juice
One part wondering what the hell’s the use
Now I’m running out of liquor, I guess I knew I would
But the NyQuil’s looking at me, and it’s looking pretty good
I fell in step with a man from the meeting on 4th
He told me, as he valiantly choked back a sob,
‘I found the one thing I’d do anything for
And God help me, it was my job!
I like to do a lot of things I wouldn’t otherwise do
I can’t help but wonder, how can I help you?
I try to smell like my boss likes me to, and I don’t regret it’
No, you wouldn’t guess it now, I used to want to be a priest
Happy misremembering the number of the beast
But it smelled like boredom in the hands of fools
It smelled like God just dropped his kids off at the pool,
So I wondered what I’ll be when I get real big
Till a thing told me plainly from its fancy new digs
‘If you don’t want to be a sheep, you’d better want to be a pig
And don’t forget it’
Now go ahead and spend your day swaddled in a stupor
And try to find someone who gives a rat’s pooper
When you’re playing naked softball out in back of the house
They send your kid home over one stinking louse
My car’s on a rolling doughnut, my guitar is fading fast
I was gonna try to pawn it but I couldn’t afford the gas
There’s a chance they’d let me sit in on a Catholic mass,
but don’t bet it
She wonders, ‘how the hell are you gonna make us rich?
You write like a cracker and you sing like a bitch
You’re either deaf or consumptive, I can never tell which
And I don’t get it’
We low class people always wish we were rich
Rich people don’t suffer lack of reasons to bitch
Are we the Joneses or their neighbors, I can never tell which
And I don’t get it