| At the cafe down on the corner
|
| With a lost look on his face
|
| There ain’t no fields to plow
|
| No reason to know
|
| He’s just a little out of place
|
| Well, they say crime don’t pay
|
| But neither does farmin' these days
|
| And the coffee is cold
|
| And he’s fifty years old
|
| And he’s got to learn to live some other way
|
| At the cafe down on the corner
|
| With a lost look on his face
|
| There ain’t no fields to plow
|
| He’s bussin' tables now
|
| He’s just a little out of place
|
| And the meek shall inherit the earth
|
| And the bank shall repossess it
|
| This job don’t pay half what it’s worth
|
| But it’s a thankful man that gets it
|
| At the cafe down on the corner
|
| With a lost look on his face
|
| There ain’t no fields to plow
|
| He’s wishin' for one now
|
| He’s just a little out of place
|
| All these soldiers without wars
|
| And hometown boys without a home
|
| Farmers without fields
|
| Dealers without deals
|
| And they sit here drinking coffee all alone
|
| At the cafe down on the corner
|
| With a lost look on their face
|
| There ain’t no fields to plow
|
| They still remember how |
| They’re just a little out of place |