He's got himself a homemade special
You know his glass is full of sand
And it feels just like a jaybird
The way it fits into his hand
He rolled a blade up in his trick towel
They slap their hands against the wall
You never trip, you never stumble
He's walking spanish down the hall
Slim him a picture of our Jesus
Or give him a spoon to dig a hole
What all he done ain't no one's business
But he'll need blankets for the cold
would
walking
tried
glass
every
dawes
hands
blade
baker
leaving
hoodwinked
jesus
feels
business
spanish
homemade
goodbye
spoon
lights
right
machine
blankets
broadway
looks
against
bowed
laundry
special
blind
watch
carved
little
jaybird
mason
himself
morning
never
picture
rings
wanted
pilate
rolled
early
screeching
stumble
their
tomorrow
broke
somewhere
towel
whispered
trick
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