Speed of spit a little slower That's the spot below the fulcrum Where the wrist will prop me up Pounds of rocks inside the pockets Silverware stuck in the sockets, light me up and make a firework Cigarettes, boys, and movies no longer mean nothin to me Tell me when we got so old Cuts both ways across, so sell it back at cost And wonder your mother would she cry if she knew what you gave up Shuck and jive right in the face of everyone who's got a case of Something that could hurt you too Disrepair and demolition start at home inside the crawlspace Where they learned to be that way Now i can feel the life slip Out of me With repetition Cigarettes, boys, and movies no longer mean nothin to me Tell me when we got so old