Beach Bum Song

All the peacock people left their plumes in a pile

They looked good to a fault

And the gulf water's warm like a bathtub

Full of lavender and epsom salt

Watch a bleach-blonde boy put his longboard down

Help his girl get her sunscreen on

And I thought about you in your tiny house

Think you're lonely, but I could be wrong

And, I wanna be a bootlegger,

Wanna mix you up something strange

Braid your hair like a sister, maybe like a hurricane

Right there, that's the postman sleeping in the sand

He's got my letters to deliver, but I'm still not mad

Right there, that's the postman sleeping in the sand

He's got a get well card to deliver, he's gonna do it by hand

He's gonna do it by hand

Now they drive their cars up and down the beach

It's ridiculous and everybody knows

Hear the Mustangs rev at the four-way stop

You get ghosted when the light says go

But in a town like this, in the checkered-flag dawn

It's so empty you could make somebody dream

So maybe it's you, in your four-post bed

Sound asleep, but still grinding your teeth

And, I wanna be your happiness

I wanna be your common sense pane

Wrap your head in a picket fence, we'll build after the hurricane

Right there, that's the postman sleeping in the sand

He's got my letters to deliver, but I can't stay mad

Right there, that's the postman asleep in the sand

He's got a get well card to deliver, he's gonna do it by hand

He's gonna do it

He's gonna do it

He's gonna do it

He's gonna do it

He's gonna do it

He's gonna do it by hand