|
We should not be livin' this life like this |
|
The sink is chokin' on onion skins |
|
While flies give birth in our breadbins |
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Box fans exhuming humidity's wind |
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And we will be forgotten |
|
In a life like this |
|
In the morning the TV cheers |
|
As daytime soaps become our careers |
|
A lifetime messin' with the rabbit ears |
|
And we're tuning into nothing |
|
This ain't life like this |
|
We should not be livin' this life like this |
|
The mice are crazy from paint chip crumbs |
|
As the iron lung of the icebox hums |
|
There's cool ranch dust on our lunchtime thumbs |
|
And we treat each other rotten |
|
This ain't life like this |
|
We're poor people |
|
We're poor, we're poor |
|
We walk down to the corner store |
|
We walk across the sticky floor |
|
We're poor people |
|
We're poor, we're poor |
