P.O. Box Third Barstool on the Right

You say you can’t handle how I’m living You don’t like the way my nights turn into days I got a hint ’bout how you feel, when the door slammed on my heels You won’t have to tell me twice to go away But if you ever come back to your senses And decide you want me back around I’m parking my behind, underneath a neon sign I found myself place to settle down If you change you mind, write back and let me know Or call and ask directions, and I’ll tell you where to go You can find…

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