You get the ankles And I get the wrists. You get the ankles And I get the wrists. You get the ankles And I get the wrists. You come down to this.
Nerves are up And the eyes all screwy Blood like a panful Of boiling ratatouille
Hang from the axles of a box car Follow the dotted line Like a steer to chicago To the hooks of the chicago man
I get all tripped up My eyes turn to water Rug burns from a shag rug Struck dumb in the presence Polyester burns from a jacket Rub the skin thin Break down in a diner Then I pay the bill
Cashier toothpick stuck in the ground Tiny lawnmower to mow me down I could get lost in a lunchbox Lie low in the mittens in the lost and found
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