| He painted his house the color of skin
|
| So if the situation called for it he could blend in
|
| Or maybe just feel like somebody else’s hot wind within
|
| We’re not feeling merry and warm in the muse by the gym
|
| Newspapers in piles eatin' over the sink
|
| And just wakin' up feels like racing for pinks
|
| And the sky changes color and size each that he blinks
|
| But he’s sure entertained by that choir and assume he’ll drink
|
| Oh Bobby, oh Bobby
|
| The meek won’t inherit a thing
|
| So dismiss this old world
|
| And fly to god
|
| And if these northern lights come erase what you are
|
| Oh Bobby, you ain’t as bad as they say
|
| You fear ghosts, the revelers and his grave torment
|
| So he kept changing clothes to throw off the scent
|
| And campaigned to trade for his soul what he traded for rent
|
| But he mixed up whatever was on hand with what was already spent
|
| Oh Bobby, oh Bobby
|
| The week you were gone I was blue
|
| So forget this old world
|
| Don’t let it get to you
|
| Forget this old world and become born anew
|
| Oh Bobby, don’t mortgage your young life this way
|
| Oh Bobby, Oh Bobby
|
| The meek won’t inherit a thing
|
| So dismiss this old world
|
| and fly to god
|
| And don’t lose your cool when they cheer and appall
|
| Oh Bobby, you ain’t as bad as they say
|
| Oh Bobby, you ain’t as bad as they say
|
| Oh Bobby, you ain’t as bad as they say |