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I've been done by the tax collector,
Had by the kids in the street,
By the girls in Wisconsin telling their boyfriends about me.
So I'm on the next train to Carson,
To you.
I've made a truce with my fascinations,
And drilled myself on my dealings with the urge.
And I'm still reading the junk newspapers,
Still playing that old brow-beating dirt.
But I'm on th next train to Carson,
To you.
And they can hang me out to dry in Carson,
With you.
They've only got ones like you in Carson, Wisconsin.
They can hang me out to dry in Carson,
With you.
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