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You gotta believe me, I'm doing my best
I apologize for all the flack I caught for dropping out
Yeah you kicked up a storm, but the winds have died down
I got a lot of bottles on account of this around

I'm sorry I'm not him
Yeah the poet's right hand
Oh, the artistic little suffering son-of-a-working-man
Yeah you work yourself in, but it spits you right out
Why is it so hard, hard?

I should've run you out of town

If it looks like it is, then it probably ain't
The more that you talk, the more my interest goes away
Yeah you work yourself in, but it spits you right out
Why is it so hard, hard?

I should've run you out of town
I should've run you out of town

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