I ride the cross town buses
down the alleys past the houses
where the watch dog watches out for
strangers on the loose
I’ll pick an address off the sidewalk
pick my way in past the pad lock
where the hot wire burglar alarm is
suckin’ up the juice

the dirty son of an LA DJ
hot rod racin’ down the LA freeway
wrong way down the one way right of way
right into a crash
they send out for an aid car
come up runnin’ with a crow bar
pry him out and work him over
so he don’t get whip lash

the street corner preacher
he’s an ex-karate teacher
black belt evangelist
doin’ god’s almighty will
while the hard core sinners
eat their pornographic dinners
go to church and bribe the minister
with a twenty dollar bill

old ladies with their nurses
carry pistols in their purses
to protect them from the children
who are out of control
adolescent alcoholics
pick pocket people’s wallets
to work their way through grade school
and make the honor roll

all the low down rounders
and the dug in undergrounders
hang around with out of towners
lookin’ for their chance
panhandle propositions
play upon your superstitions
sleight of hand pick the pockets
right out of your pants

the country singer from Tacoma
says he’s born in Oklahoma
learned to ride in Arizona
and he’s got the boots to prove it
and it’s sad and kinda funny
makin’ all that money
puts it up his nose ‘cause he don’t know
what else to do with it

yes these times they are confusin’
it’s enough to make you blow a fuse ‘n’
it’s enough to make you throw up your hands n say
“what’s the use”

when all the ships are sinkin’
and you can’t say what you’re thinkin’
‘cause that’ll just piss ‘em off
you gotta to keep it loose