I remember you An artist in first grade Mine was voted best but I knew we should trade Then I was a punk Hitchin' to the city He stopped your Camaro Girlfriend lookin' pretty And now my little girl asked Why you're in the gutter Tell her who you were and You begin to mutter I may be drunk I can be trusted Just a little bit rusted A little bit rusted "Are you mad at me?" I say "Far from that." How you spent first grade In a stocking cap I was good boy then My folks split up Not to blame them, though, for Turning out drunk Well, you play shows Don't drink dope Getchya in trouble Getchya in trouble There's some bad in me that Comes from alcohol Makes me smell like shit Stumble down and fall The road to hell Is strewn with friends That killed themselves To make amends I may be drunk But I can be trusted Just a little bit rusted A little bit rusted A little bit rusted A little bit rusted