|
It gets so sticky down here |
|
Better butter your cue finger up |
|
It's the start of another new year |
|
Better call the newspaper up |
|
Two fifty for a hi-ball |
|
And buck and a half for a beer |
|
Happy hour, happy hour |
|
Happy hour is here |
|
The long days of Shockley are gone |
|
So is football Kennedy style |
|
Famous last words taken all wrong |
|
Wind up on the very same pile |
|
Two fifty for a decade |
|
And a buck and a half for a year |
|
Happy hour, happy hour |
|
Happy hour is here |
|
I can cry, beg and whine |
|
To every rebel I find |
|
Just to give me a line |
|
I could use to describe |
|
They'd say, "Baby, eat this chicken slow |
|
It's full of all them little bones" |
|
"Baby, eat this chicken slow |
|
It's full of all them little bones" |
|
So regal and decadent here |
|
Coffin cheaters dance on their graves |
|
Music all it's delicate fear |
|
Is the only thing that don't change |
|
Two fifty for an eyeball |
|
And a buck and a half for an ear |
|
Happy hour, happy hour |
|
Happy hour is here |
|
Well, nothing's dead down here, it's just a little tired |
|
Nothing is dead down here, it's just a little tired |
|
Nothing's dead down here, it's just a little tired |
|
Nothing is dead down here, it's just a little tired |
|
"Baby, eat this chicken slow |
|
It's full of all them little bones" |
|
"Baby, eat this chicken slow |
|
It's full of all them little bones" |
|
Little bones |
|
Full of all them little bones |
|
Little bones |
