My little ones crawl up my back. Stark white teeth, Pink gums, I ain't no alley cat, But I'll still eat your trash, Climb highway exits, Eat beer cans for breakfast. Every can I visit, I've got to admit that I might not make it back. I ain't playin' around. The true black is coming. There's no use in running From a sixteen wheeler headed southeast out of town. And I knew it from the start, In my little junkie heart, That I'm better off dead That a scoundrel in bed around noon. Pour one out for opossum, Who lay out there, rotten. Hope they scrape 'er up pretty soon. Scrape 'er up real' soon