Six years old, mud on my knees, I planted a fir tree outside my elementary school. I wanted to go back when I was twenty-two, see just how much it had grown. Well I did and now it's a parking lot, but that's okay, that's okay. I spent most my time since then in parking lots anyway. Who am I to say "Fuck progress and fuck the suits?" Man, they pay my bills, I just do what they say, they pay my bills.
Teresa's cousin walks through the door carrying Jersey rain and a smell I can't place. She sits next to Stephen, asks for a clipboard, he shrugs and she nods out. They're looking at me, but I can't seem that much better, after all, I can't throw no football, I've never ridden in a Cadillac. I'm just a well trained office monkey, getting pretty good at Microsoft Excel. All my heroes when I was younger are just overgrown boys.
And when they killed John Henry, they gave us Bud Light and football, said, "Boy, if you don't feel like a man, well you can take this paper here, and you can sign on the dotted line. You can sign on the dotted dotted line. And when you get back you're hanging at the corner bar with all your old friends. Men with camo baseball caps are gonna buy you all the drinks until you can't stand. And if that ain't enough for you, its track marks outside the liquor store. And that's the end of you."
supported by 6 fans who also own “Dude, Peyton Manning”
A three piece band that does their own thing and remains as some of the nicest and most talented folks in Chicago. No other band mixes stories about day jobs, drinking, and life so well. Mike Petruccelli