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He asks how I can smoke such shit
I say there's nothing like chaining
Cuz any smokes will kill ya
But these will make you feel like it.
I sit back down,
on the parking lot curb
And remember back to February
The trip to Hartford
And five minutes ago
He was passed out on the staircase
Trying to make it to his appartment
but not making it all the way.
And now he's driving us
100 miles an hour down the interstate
Another beer in his hand
Swearin' we won't be late.
That was before everyone moved to New Mexico.
They all left a couple of months ago
Until the day my friend
When I sleep on the floor of your van again
I'll be waiting in this parking lot,
and in my dreams, I am dirty broke, beautiful, and free.
My hands clenched in a fist, and my face in a smile, after hitching to many miles.
We aren't revolutionaries, but we are the revolution.
And sometimes I think that the whole movement is just me and you
And maybe we'd all be better off if that was true
Cuz then we'd at least know where we stand
And we could tell our comrades apart from the man
cuz if the world isn't that simple
Maybe this town is at least
And if I'm not marching with them for war I'm sure not marching with you for peace
Class traitor? What fucking ever!
I'm just another middle class kid, too.
But if I'm not good at changing, I'm good at self loathing
So I'll class hate myself with you.
May our only occupation be not having a job
And may the only cocktails we make be molotov
May that day be now, and for as many days after that as we know how
It starts in this parking lot, and in my dreams, I am dirty broke beautiful and free. My hands clenched in a fist, and my face in a smile, after hitching too many miles.
Other Johnny Hobo And The Freight Trains Lyrics
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