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he's got a mean streak that's 2 miles wide
a wicked widow's peak that his lost hat won't hide
has some family round here well aware of his leathery pride
lives down by the racetrack so he knows the inside
he's not a bad joe, just talk to the girl that used to know
she was a waitress for a while, 'til the clubhouse changed her style
she went from small town looker
to dressing like a myopic optimistic hooker
well adorned with accessory
like the back hand of benny the booker
oh conformity, saint conformity
won't you come down here
and clutter up her form for me
if l live my life in routine would you make the meantime
a little less mean
it's a watermark, this thing you settled for
corrosive material, this thing you settled for
it's an endless ache, a heart attack and an earthquake
all of this and more, or less, this thing you settled for
his tongue has the bite, 'til he pickles it just right
his brain took the train, which left his heart out in the rain
his manner is neglect, any of your help is only suspect
his memory is stuck in slo-mo rewind of how her eyes used to shine
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