|
Mean Mr. Mustard says he's bored |
|
of life in The District. |
|
Can't afford the French Quarter high. |
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Says it gets old real quick. |
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And he pales up next to me |
|
scrawled on the pavement. |
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It says: |
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Son, time is all the luck you need. |
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And if I stay lucky then my tongue will stay tied |
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and I won't betray the things that I hide. |
|
There's not enough years underneath this belt |
|
for me to admit the way that I felt. |
|
Mean Mr. Mustard says don't be |
|
the wave that crashes |
|
from a sea of discontent. |
|
He says he's wrestled with that blanket. |
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It leaves you cold and wet |
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any way you stretch it. |
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Divine apathy! Disease of my youth |
|
watch that you don't catch it. |
|
And if I stay Lucky then my tongue will stay tied |
|
and I won't betray the things that I hide. |
|
There's not enough years underneath this belt |
|
for me to admit the way that I felt. |
|
And I'm the wave that crashes |
|
from a sea that turns itself |
|
inside out every chance I get to |
|
see what it's like in hell. |
|
And if I stay Lucky then my tongue will stay tied |
|
and I won't betray the things that I hide. |
|
There's not enough years underneath this belt |
|
for me to admit the way that I felt. |
|
And if I stay Lucky then my tongue will stay tied |
|
and I won't betray the things that I hide. |
|
There's not enough years underneath this belt |
|
for me to admit the way that I felt. |
