A Song for Clint

A SONG FOR CLINT
THE OLD MAN LOOKED AT THE KID AND SAIDGET OFF MY LAWN. YOU'D BETTER DO IT I AIN'T GONNA CALL NO COPS, HE SAID, I'M GONNA SHOOT YOU DOWN
SO YOU'D BETTER MOVE, YOU LITTLE ZIPPERHEAD, RIGHT NOW
THE KID'S GRANMA SHE ROCKS THE CHAIR, SHE DOESN'T SPEAK A WORD SHE WON'T GET FOOLED
SHE GETS CLOSER, LOOKS THE OLE MAN IN THE EYES
AND THEN SPITS ON THE LAWN
MY HOUSE IS FULL OF STRANGERS WHO APPARENTLY TAKE CARE OF THE FOOD I EAT, OF THE SAME OLD CLOTHES I WEAR,
BUT SINCE THE DAY YOU'VE LEFT ME HONEY,
I CAN BARELY BREATHE THE AIR
WELL I GOT SO MUCH IN COMMON WITH THESE NIPS
HE FOUND HIMSELF SURPRISED TO THINK
I HATE TO ADMIT THAT.
WE USED TO STUCK FUCKS LIKE YOU FIVE FEET HIGH IN KOREA AND USE YOU FOR SANDBAGS
BUT THESE OLD MAN THOUGHTS THEY'RE MEANT TO BE FORGOTTEN. THAT'S OK
IT'S ALL ABOUT THE CAR YOU'RE DRIVING, THE ART OF SHARING IT'S ALL ABOUT YOUR OWN DAMN CODE
SOME KIND OF SACRED OATH
SO JUST GET CLOSER, WATCH ME IN THE EYES AND THEN YOU KNOW YOU'RE DONE
MY HOUSE IS FULL OF STRANGERS WHO APPARENTLY TAKE CARE OF THE FOOD I EAT, OF THE SAME OLE CLOTHES I WEAR
BUT SINCE THE DAY YOU'VE LEFT, MY DEAR
I CAN BARELY BREATHE THE AIR