I grab my key,
and open the door.
I'm never quite sure,
what is in store.

What's that smell?
Whose music is that?
Is that legal?
"Woah, nice hat!"

The garbage can's full
and it spreads to the hall,
that pile of garbage
is getting too tall.

I hear an air horn,
and then a scream.
Now pounding on the walls,
shoot, I stepped in shaving cream.

Man, I am tired,
worn out, what a week.
Maybe I should lie down,
and catch up on sleep.

Sleep, good luck,
says the guy next door.
On comes the bass,
and he turns it up more.

Twenty four hours a day,
seven days a week.
There is always something,
to make all my senses peak.

A smell,
a sight,
a sound,
a taste,
and that awful feeling
of something hitting my face.

I'm not sure what I smell,
or what's on the floor.
I thought it was loud,
but then there was more.

Wait...the music's shut off,
I'm drifting asleep.
PSYCH, a fire alarm,
that's the third one this week.