Last House on a Dead End Street

I’m the last house on a dead end street

Woman and children are the first to leave

My hermitage almost complete

I’m the last house on a dead end street

Ain’t growing old with grace      

Mary, Margaret or even faith

A little house and a lotta space             

I’m overgrown to throw you shade

Hey you kid (miss), get off of my lawn

Step a foot on my porch, and you’re gone (aw come on)

In the distance, you little pissants (all miscreants)

Ya got it all wrong/ just (tryin’to) get-a-long

Grand dad had that Nashville sound

Stereo console hand-me-down

The good book props it off the ground

It’s a good look, finally found

Used to drive a cab in a circle slip

Drove that car right off the grid

Droppin’ off what I coulda kept

Even Bhudda ran on his wife and kid



Seller's Remorse

My tattooed tears ran/ Like sad mascara

I’m just such a man/ for cryin’ out loud at ya             

But I do give a damn/ Like Scarlet O’Hara

I’m such a big fan/ And frankly just scared of ya             

That’s tough, I know/as I punch the tears on my pillow  

My fabric’s all for show

I’m the comeback kid/ an Indian taker

Even you must admit/ I looked pretty good on paper

What we have/ of course/ is a case of seller’s remorse

Sorta planned/ obsolescence/ a cheap clasp on a fine necklace

That’s bound/ to get lost/ and found no matter the cost

Could call/ it a pattern/ like circles in the satin

Harper Lee

With your artificial tears

A sweet saline pollution

That waters down your beer

Swept  away by easy solution

Leaving all the lights on

Brighten shadows, yah she’s real gone

She got real gone

She’s really gone

Be a stretch to call you friend

Cord’s diminished and shortenin’

But that phones all alone/

and I’m dying for that tone

says you’re hooked and off with him

Like Harper Lee

Chances are none

Down on both knees

But she only gives one


Old Spice

Well I wear Old Spice

‘cause I want the old school

To smell me down the hall

Get a whiff of something cool

I’m already 17

But they like to call me junior

It’s like the parting of the seas

When I walk into their rumor

Smile/ telling me to smile/their cruddy smile

But they can’t make me crack/ my face might stay like that

And I/ I reckon I

Will get that office call/ a good talkin’ to is all I need

I got a rattlesnake belt

Hitchin’ up my jeans

They like to tell me how I felt

When they started pullin’ teeth

But I’m just a skinny boy

With a plastic grenade

Barely outta Tinker Toys

Wait and see the mess I make

Well…Old Spice…something cool

I’m just a skinny boy

Barely up to welterweight

Can’t believe the stinkin’ joy

From my Bic Pen…sulfur…matchstick…grenade