|
I get up like a rocket in a hurricane |
|
Then it's off to work like a runaway train |
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Drivin' them nails, draggin' my tail |
|
It don't take much to follow my trail, follow my trail |
|
Back and forth in a game of pickle |
|
I ain't nothing but the monkey in the middle |
|
Walking that sideshow tight rope making ends meet |
|
That organ grinder be in a bind without me |
|
In that circus they work us like a bunch of borrowed mules |
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But everytime that music plays |
|
I know what to do |
|
Every Friday night at the honky tonk |
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Me and my baby make that dive jump |
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When our buckles bump, |
|
I tell you what |
|
That girl is packing some powerful stuff, powerful stuff |
|
And when we get home she plays me like a fiddle |
|
Makin' sweet music with the monkey in the middle |
|
Walking that sideshow tightrope, makin' ends meet |
|
That organ grinder be in a bind without me |
|
In that circus they work us like a bunch of borrowed mules |
|
But everytime that music plays sugar |
|
I know what to do |
|
And then. |
|
I get up like a rocket in a hurricane |
|
Then it's off to work like a runaway train |
|
Drivin' them nails, draggin' my tail |
|
It don't take much to follow my trail, follow my trail |
|
Back and forth in a game of pickle |
|
I ain't nothing but the monkey in the middle |
