You hate it here, and I'm bound to go away
A couple more dollars and a job with better pay
I hear you sleep walking, and I hear you shit talking
I'm looking deep in your eyes and I still see nothing
We all get our drugs, our pills, and our wine
I should feel thankful I'm still looking for mine
In the air conditioned halls, broken children of God
If she screams at you child it's cause she's falling apart
There's no Jesus here; he's having the night out
Drinking and laughing with his friends from town
And he's got his drugs, his pills, and his wine
Living like a rich man on borro...