Get a load of that guy. With the dew rag on. And the cowboy tie. Man that cat is gone. . Form Memphis to Nashville. Then way out west. Put that Hollywood party.
Ride My Pony. . Gray And Chalky Like My Granddaddy's Skin,. The Sky Was Cold And Lonely And Closin' In. All The Trees Look Like Stubble On Winter's Chin.
You get up in the morning. You get on the bus. You don't think about nothing. You don't raise no fuss. . You come home in the evening. Turn the TV on.
Well now I never went to college, babe,. I did not have the luck.. Stole out of Indiana. On the back of a pickup truck.. No education higher,. Than the streets of my hometown..
Get in your car and go. Dependin' on how you feel. Turn up your radio. DJ says the love is real. He thinks it's the latest sensation. And you just keep changin' the station.
Well, those electric sheep to the valley they keep walkin'. On the radio waves, selling tennis shoes and beer. It induces sleep when that DJ starts his talkin'.
She paints her fingernails forbidden tones. She wants nervous youth on the telephone. He don't call. She sticks another pin. In her doll. And puts him next to her stuffed animals.
What is that fallin' out of your eyes. What is that rollin' on down your shit. Thunder and lightning from the bloodshot skies. This time its feeling like a permanent hurt.
he threw one down from the top of the stairs. beautiful women were standing everywhere. they all got wet when he smashed that thing. but off in the dark you could hear somebody sing.
I was gonna get up off that bar stool. Just as soon as I could figure it out. Why I was overlooked at the car pool. Stood up at the dance with no twist and shout.
They took enough of my mind. To make a calculator. Addin' up the figures, they'll find. That love's a dumbwaiter. . Waitin' for the dream to fade. Right into you hit parade.
Well I wandered in. To the house of mirrors. With a camera and an old shotgun. I was taking some pictures. Of me and my fears. And exploding them one by one.
Our Time. . I Traced Your Arms As You Laid Spread Out On The Sunday Paper. Looked Like The Crime Scene Of An Angel Ghost. I Heard The Gate Clatter To On The Elevator.
It was Monday or Tuesday. Or one of them damn days. I was staring backwards from the sun. Through an unrelenting haze. . I was shaking, reaching for my cup.
I woke her up twice in the middle of the night. To ask what her name is and where she might live. To ask how many fingers she saw in this light. To ask if she might know what gives.
Mama's in the bathroom. Waitin' to be saved. Papa's in the bedroom. Just diggin' up his grave. . Brother's in the kitchen. Playin' with a knife. Sister's in the attic.
You look just like Mona Lisa, baby. Have you got something up your sleeve?. You got your arms folded and your legs propped up. Oh, I must say, you're looking relieved.
Old School. . He's The Old School. He Don't Say When He's Hurting. He'll Just Hide Away 'Til It's Over. And Tears Are Dry. . He's The Old School. And You Can't See Him Cry.
On With You. . Twenty Years And We're Still On The Beat. Stretchin' Out And Goin' For It. I Don't Know If These Ends Will Ever Meet. Thing With Love Is You Can't Store It.
Old people are pushy. They don't have much time. They'll shove you at the coffee shop. Cut ahead in the buffet line. . They'll buy two for a dollar and 50.