You Get The Ankles

And I Get The Wrists.

You Get The Ankles

And I Get The Wrists.

You Get The Ankles

And I Get The Wrists.

You Come Down To This.



Nerves Are Up

And The Eyes All Screwy

Blood Like A Panful

Of Boiling Ratatouille



Hang From The Axles Of A Box Car

Follow The Dotted Line

Like A Steer To Chicago

To The Hooks Of The Chicago Man



I Get All Tripped Up

My Eyes Turn To Water

Rug Burns From A Shag Rug

Struck Dumb In The Presence

Polyester Burns From A Jacket

Rub The Skin Thin

Break Down In A Diner

Then I Pay The Bill



Cashier Toothpick Stuck In The Ground

Tiny Lawnmower To Mow Me Down

I Could Get Lost In A Lunchbox

Lie Low In The Mittens In The Lost And Found