You’re a lot like those guys
On the rafters, smoking on
S*** stronger than their hearts,
Don’t have much use for it, ready
To give up or give in. You’ve got
The petty eyes and the terrible,
Tawdry affections and affectations,
Not knowing much of the
Difference between the two.

You’re a lot like those guys
With the beat-in look of shut-down
Shut-ins with the carefully applied
Bruises and the look of dead air
About their hair, greasy black.
You’re a lot like them.

You’re a lot like those guys
With the star tattoos and the
Converse shoes, the stench
Of day-old booze and the catch
Of some hard-knocked floosy
Cause it gets you all starlike
To think of the terrible times
Ahead of a punkstud rockstar
On the verge of some glory to be had
By, let’s face it, some other guy.

You’re a lot like those guys
Who say it real sweet, like they
Have got sugar on the teeth
And real nice words to kick around
If you’ll listen long enough to
Give it up for dirt cheap cause that’s
The only way he knows it.

You’re a lot like those guys
Who take real short on living
And real long on the drag.
Who’ve got the hair and the
Stare, the I-Don’t-Care, down
Scratch, who belittle the “snatch,”
Rolling fat in fake cash,
Love bad and then dash,
Who keep long on the stash.

You’re a lot like those guys
With the beds all real neat
With the white, flannel sheets,
And the red vinyl seats.
Who’ve got their homes
All real cute, a fine tailored suit,
When they aint gotta shoot.
Who’ve got it all real, real nice,
No living in the dumps
Or the graveyards, shipyards,
Backyards.
Who’ve got a dinner on the plate,
A real nice world to hate,
Cause they’re so privileged it’s
Making them sick.
With nail beds white as snow,
A real fine little show
This life is or at least that’s
All they know on the other
Side of the rafts which they
Hang from. That’s how it goes.

You’re a lot like those guys
With the milky skin, the
Satin and sin, the dark
Wavy hair which they’ve drowned
Out with dye, which they’ve let die.
They’ve got good feet to stand on,
Good hands to hold,
Good minds to mold,
But bad mouths to scold,
And it’s gone and they’re sold
On their jack-s*** cheap booze,
The stench of it oozing from
Their hair and their stare,
Their I-Don’t-Care little flare
Of their nostrils, so cool and so free.
Like dirty, angry scoundrels with
Their hands tied behind their backs,
Having to hate the world for all the BS
And the stuff over on River Side.
But they don’t live on River Side,
They live on the Haven, with their
White, flannel sheets and their
Nice little houses all neat,
Their parents smiling so true
That it kills you to see their boys
Going to so much waste.

You’re a lot like those guys
Who think they’re the real down
And dirty s***, the real stuff
When it comes down to it.
Cause they hate the world enough
To save themselves from all
The death and destruction.
They’ve got their Minds all set,
their hearts on the Beat of
some jacked-up drug kick.
They’re coarse and they spit.
They talk like they’re the poets
Of a generation, like they’ve got
The words to prove that their greased-back,
Coked-up look, it aint lyin’.
Like sitting on the rafters is of some
Good service to whatever cause
They’re not fighting, like the world
Has room for more of the beat-down
Cynicism of a generation ready to give up.

You’re a lot like those guys
Who’ve got all the time in the
World cause their asses aint
Savin’ it.