I think philosophy,
while I'm drinking cold beer.
I've got my friends beside me,
next to the girl I hold most dear.

I've got pessimism in my veins,
and a pack of cowboy cigarettes,
a funky feeling that I can't shake,
the devil dancing in my head.

Stood up, looked him in his rock-eye,
understood his wicked grace,
But no-matter how I swung, I
day-dreamed visions of his face.

Now I eat medication, and drink myself to sleep,
still doing what I'm not supposed to,
fighting the god that makes me happy.
Its genetics, this crazy string I bounce and think.
Last edited by BigBassFishing at Aug 27, 2007,