We’re just hicks, just kids
looking for kicks and pills
and chicks and highs we
know we’re nothing new
know we’re nothing cool
but still we chase the dream
chase the dragon scour the
classifieds, hang round the
Guitar Centre grading
assholes from afar: “Too fat”
“Too faggy”, “Too bald”
“Too good”, dreaming
and smoking and scamming
drinks and walking – yes,
walking – The Strip too
broke for cabs too high to
jones too paranoid to cop
so it’s back to the
alleys and doorway dealers
and broken 14oz shards
shining in the afternoon sun.
Down here no-one robs the
have-nots, down here we burn.
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