You can walk, you can talk, you can fight
But inside you've got something to write
In your hand you hold your only friend
Never spend your guitar or your pen
Well, I would like to hold my little hand
And we will run, we will, we will crawl, we will
I would like to hold my little hand
And we will run, we will, we will crawl
Send me on my way (on my way)
Well, you wake up in the mornin'
You hear the work bell ring
And they march you to the table
You see the same old thing
Ain't no food upon the table
And no pork up in the pan
But you better not complain, boy
You get in trouble with the man
When you wake up in the morning and the light is hurt your head
The first thing you do when you get up out of bed
Is hit that streets a-runnin' and try to beat the masses
And go get yourself some cheap sunglasses
Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette
Puff, puff, puff and if you smoke yourself to death
Tell St Peter at the Golden Gate
That you hate to make him wait
But you just gotta have another cigarette