Everybody's talking like they can't sit down
And looking like they can't stand up
It must be the latest style
And they've seen a lot of things that you never see
Back on the mile up to the hanging tree

Some people can't keep their fingers clean
Just clicking their heels to the beat of the scene
Trying to keep careen until the first edition of last night's obituaries

Jump up, hold on tight
Can't trust a promise or a guarantee
'Cause the man 'round the curve says that he's never heard of you or me

No tombstone would ever surprise me
When I'm locked in a room about half the size of a matchbox
Got holes in my socks
They match the ones that I got in my feet
I put my feet in the holes in the street
And somebody paved me over

I was a statue standing on the corner
Tell me, how else can a boy get to see those pretty pleats?

Candidate talking on the radio from the "Cheaters Jamboree"
It must be their latest fool
'Cause it's a two-horse race, and he changes bets
Like it was just another brand of cigarettes
Some people judge, then they just guess the rest
They can't understand, it don't mean that you're blessed
They oughta catch the express, next stop nowhere
That way you can't forget

Jump up, hold on tight
Can't trust a promise or a guarantee
'Cause the man 'round the curve says that he's never heard of you or me