SMOKE IN THE CITY

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Greaseball

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There gon' be smoke in the city
They might say, oh what a pity
They might want dope
There might be a whole bunch of people like you
Where you been? How's your mom? Is your dad still sick
Let me grab my
Let me just say what I want to say
If I can't, I won't act right
We could throw grapes at our enemies
We could just paint the amenities that have been stained
We could replace your Nintendo but the things we enjoy
Well, they're never the same
And if we're all dogs, then I'ma just piss where you whistle
With the grit in my gristle
As I pick at my ticks and I dig in the ditch
You admit to have lived in a little
Many nights sting to the core
Many nice things for us all, but they're not for me
Singing that gospel, bringing that bop for the freaks to see
And it makes me think
There gon' be smoke in the city
They might say, oh what a pity
They might want dope
There might be a whole bunch of people like me
I don't even like nice things.
I'd rather drink wine by the tracks with the ratchets and goons
Songs of our fathers get sung by their daughters
Obnoxiously, nauseously, laughing and cackling at moons
Glass in my shoes, I'm happy to do it, and that's the only way
Please don't call me daddy, me and that man ain't the same
I've been short a Newport since I was fourteen
Sleeping up on that porch
With an angry dog underneath my skin
With a raging bull laying at my feet
If we just hold on, then we just might win
I can look at my enemies again
I can look at my enemies again
It lets me know
There gon' be smoke in the city
They might say, oh what a pity
They might want dope
There might be a whole bunch of people like me
You've got gold in your face
Tell us a story of gold on your chain
Tell us a story of gold in your face
Tell us a story of gold on your chain
Tell us a story of
Gold in my soul
Coming out in the sound of the nouns and verbs
Sitting with a puzzle in the TV guide and
I doubt that our moms ever found those words
Doubt that my dad ever read much books and
I think sometimes that it makes me sad
Should've stayed home from the rock fight, right
Well your hindsight's great but mine ain't too bad
Maybe one day, that stray dog will bring it all back again
Dead language on your tongue, words from way back when
Holding on to the devils in your dreams
I awoke to the smell of gasoline
There gon' be smoke in the city
They might say, oh what a pity
They might want dope
There might be a whole bunch of people like us

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