Olde English (Chillin' Like Gilligan)

Bottle up pain and you were better off dead

And I would rather love your daughter, but it's gone to my head

Jukebox playing with a notion to explode

Drag racers bent on bending the road

Entertainers with no charms to speak of

A circus of fleas, a band of spooks

Neighborly ghosts looking at you

Heavy metal music like a ratchet to a truck

Glowing in the dark and you're just out of luck

Walking with a suitcase and a crack pipe to boot

Throw the dead bodies down a laundry chute

Breaking bones and shattering knives

Plow your face into a field, bury your eyes

I packed my bags, I got out of town

Yeah, I took up with a traveling show, but I couldn't stick around

'Cause the funhouse went all up in flames

And the carousel horses leaped out from their chains

I took a car, I was ready to drive

I put down the top, I was more dead than alive

One foot on the brakes, yeah one foot on the gas

One foot on the brakes, a pocket calculator to count all your mistakes

All nervous words that fall into a pile

Living in some personality with no particular style

I speak the sound of hollow logs and walk the dance of rags

Tombstone skateboards and underwear flags

Hide in a trailer park for a year or so

Got some groceries, waiting for the beard to grow

The old man next door said you won't live long

I'm telling you, I said I know I always knew this was true

But I been seeing things, and I been shedding a lot of skin

And I found myself in a back of a burned-out fire engine

And then I took a long way at a dead end

The end of the line, born of no name, the hard luck child

Too many times caught between the extremes

Bullfight blow flies border magazines

A hundred eyes with a quarter of a brain

Rock and roll, post-coital let down again

Flamethrower tv dinner electric frozen grin

Dragstrip, bullwhip, rocket ship tailspin

Bluegrass, eyeglass, motion picture jam

Cannonball, summersault, faker in the can

I'm wound up, plastic wino breathing haze

Umbrella shadows white light daze

Convenient store fruit pie deranged men and more

One-armed folksinger chewing on the floor

Ragtime whiskeyman, bottle of snuff

Box of junk and a crocket of stuff

Chillin' like gilligan