I’m Sad
(Em)

I know this low-slung hispanic woman from Hispaniola, no lie.
Hispaniola like I told ya. Female dweeb from the Caribe.
And I licked her like a dog. I kept licking her and licking her,
like “How far’s he gonna go with this?” Until it resolves.
Looks like I licked her til her hair dissolved.
Now looky there. She ain’t got no hair. (Em)
And it troubled yours truly.
Troubled me deep into my metaphysically unexamined soul.
So I went out to the curb and climbed into a refrigerator.
And the next time you want a devilled egg and olive loaf sandwich,
I’ll be in there chillin’ I’ll be in there chillin’ (Em -Am-Em

I’m sad (oh yeah oh yeah) (Em- C)
It’s bad (oh yeah oh yeah) (Em- C)
I’m sad (oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah) (Em- C-D-G) (D)

Every brother I meet on the street is looking down,
wearing a frown, half a halo in the oven.
Maybe they’re clinically depressed; maybe their thinking about (Em)
dissolute offspring of 17th century patent barons got ‘em upset.
Or maybe they were singing, maybe they were singing
John Bartles’ Alphabet Song too long. Too long.

It’s a hairy day for money grubbers. (G - C) (G-C- D)
And you keep saying how I’m not enlightened. But I’m enlightened.
I’m the moving oven. I’m the really hollow. (C - D)

I’m sad (oh yeah oh yeah)
It’s bad (oh yeah oh yeah)
I’m sad (oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah) 2X (Em- C -/- D-G)

Gonna take up underage drinking, start sneaking smokes from my folks in Mexico. Bel-Airs, Montclairs, Micronite Tonite, Nite train lights 1000 with a silly millimeter, Indian Spirit menthol, Irish Spring Chestertons, (look at my chest, Cheswick!) Check the lock on the gun cabinet, figure out a way to blow up the moon, dysgenically let on a lot more than I know like a rolling dynamo.

It’s a hairy day for money grubbers. You keep saying how you think that I'm not enlightened. But I'm enlightened.

I’m the moving oven
I’m the vortex attack.
I’m the really hollow. I’m sad. (oh yeah etc.)