The Easy Mark & The Old Maid Lyrics - Bad Books - Bad Books

Some men collapse at the racetrack 

Their wrong and beat up, their eyes black 

Others wilt in casinos 

Roll dice and piss away speedboats 

Some dissolve into bar stools 

Scratched off in boxes and playoff pools 

I spent myself on a psychic 

I lost my way and a friend said she would find it 

Man, we were wrong 

Man, we were wrong 

I asked for the future 

She only sang me a song 

Some men they go make their own luck 

Grow fat from feeding on lame ducks 

The easy mark and the old maid 

The invalid and the ingrate 

Others wait for that high sign 

Some holy hoax in the tree line 

Me, I'm counting my canned food 

Bunkered down, waiting out our slingshot moods 

But what if I'm wrong? 

What if I'm wrong? 

I'll open my doors up 

People, come sweep me along 

Eyes are fixed and my palms are spread 

Dissonance floats my shipwrecked head 

God sleeps in the Gaza Strip 

And man alone's left alone to live with it 

The coin-flip faith of the optimist 

It's beginners luck in a sewing kit 

What's to do when there is no fix 

On the unflinching ambivalence? 

But you say that's wrong 

Hopeless and wrong 

We re-thread your needle 

You say, "God, play along"