Mood Organ

Shh, shh, shh Plasma wall lit Deny that he ain't really up yet Wash his mouth with the whisky The same glass he set On the night stand from the night before Only had to take one Don't know where the bitch went (She was just wait) No, that was a week ago Grab the gun with his underwear on the floor Why must that wall keep blinking, leave him alone (shh) He already know, it's another skin and bone Doing something unspeakable He ain't speaking okay Move the squeaky panel out the way And count up what he saved (75, thou) Almost enough to grab his bottle and walk away But not today (shh, shh) He's comin', he's comin' Just let him put on a shirt, Jesus Christ The hum of neon is persistent, can't get no sleep at night Thumbing through paperbacks just to remember the feeling (okay, okay) He'll accept the call and ask that they ignore the wire plugged in the ceiling The plaster is peeling away Swear the sun is burning through the cream It's just another way to get 'em all to pay for shit nobody really needs Fresh air will be the death, maybe it's welcome Pocket full of upfront, put it all on the challenger to live They never do, but that mean it's overdue For that ship to come in, so let it ride Don't let him die, don't let him die, don't let him die Oh, he's dead That son of bitch didn't keep his guard up And they tore him up limb from limb What did he expect from a skinner Meaty motherfucker never really had it in him Almost feel bad But when they get out, it's on him To scour the avenues battling elements Skinners are slippery if unintelligent, better go get it First another drink Gotta stay loose and lubed up Two stepping to the tunes on the jukebox Even the bangers are melancholy Get going old man 'cause you're broke and your work is important Shut up, you ain't foolin' nobody