Lyrics:
on the grate in the evening, takes the chill away fine,
Cut the telephone line, the story's the same.
There's a worn red chair by the window that she found
Hey
Hey
Hey
Hey
Hey, there's no news
Poor man still got the blues
He's walking around in worn out shoes
With nothing to lose
Hey, he's
And all I have is this
worn out and faded photograph
In black and white
That still reminds me
You’re gone
But in my mind it is a blue morning
I’m standing
on the radio
She heard me on that Jagged Edge shit
Memorized my cell phone number out the blue
Called me on some
"I wasn't sure if that was you or not"
Bitch,
an eight-by-twelve four bed room
I'm a man of means by no means
King of the road
Third box-car on the midnight tube
Destination Hangar Lane
Old worn out suit
Broken toys of a torment
Used for some sick adornment
And I wish I could be like you
A living dead
With my lips blue
Spending your life climbing
In and out of dreams in a south London bar
And the night sky is painted blue
He sits on a front doorstep
And sings every Irish mammy song that he
Police siren
Camera; click click click click
Wow, young silk
Boy out done yourself to this time!
Why you back on slim?
Spread your arm wide
And pin
house, before the poorhouse
Like back when you were with Ash now
Had you a newborn, both of you too worn
Both of you two gonna lash out
Wouldn't be too
, reaching out
Over the great divide
It?s a long, long road
Stretching out ahead
Step by step, step by step
Over the great divide
On a dead end street
Chicago hiding from the thunder of a 12 gauge
In his cardboard box and newspaper roof
With dirty hair and old worn out shoes
Sing sing the highway blues
and I'm watching all the floats go by
I was growing out my hair and I was learning guitar
I was living with my doors unlocked
In the evening you were
Red on blues down the highway
In red high-heeled shoes and gabardine dress
Leaning on the side of a Chevy BelAir
In worn out blue shoes
damned feet
DJ Blue mixed tapes and Lord Finesse
Raised on bass and on a worn slick deck
Learned my slang right down the block
From where Rick Ross
you've got
Just a wish and a prayer and another shot
So we've gone
So many miles
In worn out shoes
And I will not lie
'Cause I got the blues
And I wish I
and blue and worn clear through
And I say by that time I'm gonna be in my prime
I'm gonna strut like a cock until I'm ninety-nine
I'm gonna walk like
and blue and worn clear through
And I say by that time I'm gonna be in my prime
I'm gonna strut like a cock until I'm ninety-nine
I'm gonna walk like
Feels like summer on a winter day
Surrounded by views most people would pay for
I'm lucky I know
I take a deep breath and hold it in
Let it out slow
Got a picture of your house and you're standing by the door
It's black and white and faded and it's looking pretty worn
I see the factory that I
rare over by Cherson, Cherson,
we calcify fathers here below
a watery cross, with weeds
entwined
This grins restoredly,
low sleep
Wave
Oh, no,
shush
Today, I will walk into the Civic Auditorium
As a 17-year-old high school graduate
And walk out-
"Name?" The man's grating voice
Cuts through my reverie
When we're by the sea
Talkin' till 2 or 3
Listening to the Monkees
Black boots and worn out jeans
No where else I'd rather be
Ooh I'm never blue
Cuz
figured that out by now
Whatever happened to those Saturday morning cartoons?
Sure don't make them like they used to
Dad was leaving bright and early for
These people think they know me but they dont have a clue
How you judge somebody by how they look, but you haven't worn they shoes
I remember in the old
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