The bright lights will be
forever romantic in my eyes,
alley ways and corner stores
be the base of the neighborhood,
Momma says you gotta be out
of the house before the sun come up,
But you still got your liquor,
and your smoke,
all your cheap women and poetry,
You got that scratched record,
That throat that will sing them songs loud.
You just don't have yourself no more
That part of you is gone,
or was never even there.