Fitzgerald Lyrics - Frank Black

Its sad to see your art 

Hanging on the wall 

So many pictures there 

But yours the best of all 

I like the Indian 

The one in ballpoint ink 

In ancient Massachusetts 

Long before you called 

You traded him and many others 

For a drink 

Your fingers thick from hammers 

Well, it really makes you think 

And then my father 

Would fill your glass so tall 

When I was a kid 

I gophered in your crew 

Always a kind word 

And you showed me what to do 

And living hammered 

Well, it's always hit or miss 

But through your cigarette stained beard 

Your love rang true 

And though you are so loved 

It had to come to this 

You got shut off 

Because you always stink of piss 

And now you drink someplace 

Where no one bothers you 

Oh, Fitzy, oh, Fitzy 

Oh, Fitzy, oh, Fitzy 

Oh, Fitzy, oh, Fitzy