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