Looks like its back
Back to beer bottles
Back to juke boxes
That won't play David Bowie
No matter how much I ask

Just when I thought I was a real boy
My strings tangled
And I fell flat on my face
Another walk home
Drunk
It's great to live out in the boondocks
Not a soul to bother
I can lay out in the stars
And smoke cigarettes
And write poetry
Sometimes I ***** out loud to god
But really
Who am I to whine
Ive worked hard
To be able to play my own David Bowie records
As loud as I want
With the front door wide open
Laying in the lawn
Singing along
Singing along