Someone called to tell me the news
and it broke my train of thought
they said I haven’t paid my dues
and they’ll take everything I got
so, I went over there to their place
they were surprised I even showed my face
I got out my pen, signed over my car
and gave ‘em my house
but I knew that wouldn’t get me far
I left with my pen and I went to think
this writing instrument is all I have now
and sooner or later it’ll run out of ink
but I guess that I’ll manage somehow
I had my chances to pay them back
but with addictive priorities it was lost at the track
if my life’s a game of golf I’m 12,000 over par
I could grab my nine-iron and beat them to death
but that wouldn’t get me far
The summer left me running from town to town
working pathetic, part-time—part-time jobs
I hope by next year things’ll come around
lately these days are made up by sighs and sobs
I just hope that my luck will change its ways
it doesn’t take much to write my resumes
and every time I see a shooting star
someone else had seen it first
anyway, I doubt it could get me far
I wrote this in a class one day in the last page of a notebook. What
can I say, ideas come at strange times and in strange ways. Oddly, the
"part-time-part-time jobs" phrase is the first thing I thought of. I just
started writing and didn't fit that part in till the last stanza. On another
note, the "nine iron" phrase came after I wrote this. I didn't like the
original "I could grab all my clubs and let them play through." I like the new
one myself.