Look out, Mama, there's a white boat coming up the river,. with a big red beacon and a flag and a man on the rail. I think you'd better call John. 'cause it don't look like they're here to deliver the mail.
Especially with my head pounding. and lying helpless in my bed. I long for you and your expert hands. To ease this white heat from my head. . And you would boast that you knew.
I park my pontiac. Down the hill out in back. Late every afternoon. With a coke and a cigarette. And all of the neighbors there. They see a nice old man.
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