Just A Loan

The boys of too-cool are smoking their lead sheets
"We don't need these things, we're made of stuff that never eats or drowns."
They've swallowed their own bull hook, line and vicious merry-go-round.
Do you go to the funerals? Do you stay for the service?
Do you take a drink in the car?
Do you kneel by the family that whispers to its children,
"Now remember where you are."
Do you peek in the coffin, think he looks like he's sleeping
that deep barbiturate doze?
Do you think, just for a second, to ask if he's holding, to tell him
"Hey, man, this is just a loan."
The boys of too-cool are smoking their lead sheets
"We don't need these things, we're made of stuff that never eats or drowns."
They've swallowed their own bull hook, line and vicious merry-go-round.
So you thought you'd string angel's wings right across a guitar,
blow their breath through a sax and there's nothing they'd exact but
they don't like to be ignored.
You told me you guys were hotter than July that last night but you must have been too stoned, or it was too loud to hear
when the angels broke in, they said
"Hey, guys, time's up. This was just a loan."
The boys of too-cool are smoking their lead sheets
"We don't need these things, we're made of stuff that never sleeps or drowns."
They've swallowed their own bull hook, line and vicious merry-go-round.

©1994 Agent Gracie Music (BMI) and McKinley


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