The corruption of time where the girls of New York sell for a dozen a dime and a dollar gets the collar around the pretty ones, on each quarter a stain and Lincoln avenue pain and the time's never right for the move.

And the needle gets stuck on the 78s, **** can anything else go wrong, the corruption of time erupts on your face and the picture you have somewhere back at your place starts to melt.

Ever felt it wasn't your day
when the birds don't sing
and yet money flies away?

For a sawbuck, I'd ******* right now
I'd get out of your hair
disappear in Times Square to
reappear down in Harlem
with a hard-on for taco's
for a sawbuck, I'd do that
for a dollar or a dime you
go through that, but
the diner stays open all night.