| When I got better from the mumps
|
| Yes, my swollen nut and neck shrunk
|
| But, though subtle, I can smell distinctly
|
| Some sick and swollen stink, still to this day stays with me
|
| Inert as some dumb tart from Illinois
|
| In a shirt that says «I heart Michigan boys»
|
| But it’s oy, still steel as a goy’s gut
|
| Oh so concealed in the crease but
|
| Slow pitching like a Vatican priest to be Pope -- what?
|
| Dope. |
| So every morning wake up with hope
|
| And at night fall asleep at the end of your rope
|
| Alone pretending to cope
|
| As ill as I am, I am
|
| But with all that’s well I’ll yell
|
| Good god, what the hell, what the fuck
|
| A white dove on the hood of a two-ton truck
|
| It took me 30 years to learn my patterns
|
| Just for shit to turn weird in my return to Saturn
|
| I feel the freezing creep of greedy sleep sneaking in again
|
| I’m dangling
|
| Oh I don’t have to pull a shitty fortune from dessert
|
| Like the piss poor son of a serf to know what I’m worth
|
| I know what I’m deserved of
|
| A freaking dirty dove dead
|
| And a bag of bread from a sellout club
|
| But will you spell out love in the lashes life serves up?
|
| Or am I just a red bump in the rash of cash worship?
|
| Lord. |
| Huh? |
| Whats up?
|
| As ill as I am, I am
|
| But with all that’s well I’ll yell
|
| Good god, what the hell, what the fuck
|
| A white dove on the hood of a two-ton truck
|
| Brief is the life of that bird
|
| Who brings your secrets, your deepest beefs and desires
|
| Through it’s beak in a minor squeak to be heard
|
| Its meaning complete no need for words
|
| It might not last more than a week
|
| And if this my final trip it be
|
| Lord take me quick, let me see ye
|
| And please heed the needs of my family
|
| As ill as I am, I am
|
| But with all that’s well I’ll yell
|
| Good god, what the hell, what the fuck
|
| A white dove on the hood of a two-ton truck
|
| With mangled fingers I play it and say it
|
| Plain in my octaves with all that I’ve got
|
| And for all that I’ll not have
|
| And cursing back to the big bang in slang they sang
|
| As ill as I am, I am
|
| But with all that’s well I’ll yell
|
| Good god, what the hell, what the fuck
|
| A white dove on the hood of a two-ton truck |