It's a particular taste in the mouth
Difficult to describe
I checked the secretaries on the subway
White pages with paper-punch eyes.
And the black boys fresh out of prison
Are saying it's easy on the inside, it's just tough on parole.
Hey man, we don't need your money
Yeah, we're just checking your pockets for holes.
And the night crawls by with every cigarette drag
All shallow and twisted like a birth scream
No flash of light, no spark of life, no goddamn tunnel
Just a water-bug in a jet of steam.
Down come the Mickey
Down come the Mickey
One more time
Down come the Mickey
My friends are bad Bukowski
and eh I'm a bad joke, that's repeated at parties
Don't write it in stone unless it's an epitaph
These things are worth one laugh
Down come the Mickey
Down come the Mickey
One more time
Down come the Mickey
A hit from behind
Hit from behind
Hit from behind
And this one's for the one's that got it better than I got.
And this one's for the one's that got it worse.
And this one's for the one's that took it hard with a cheap shot
This one's for him that wrote this verse
Down come the Mickey
Down come the Mickey
One more time
Down come the Mickey
