Birthday Boy
Which one's the birthday boy?
(She said) I ain't got all night
What'd your momma name you?
You can call me what you like
Every skin is a mystery
Gotta make it hard somehow
Sit your narrow ass down, hotshot
I'll solve yours right now
Got a girlfriend, don't you, boy?
Nervous hands can't lie
Married men don't ask how much
Single ones ain't buying
One day you've got everything
Next day it's all broke
Let Miss Trixie sit up front
Let her wipe your nose
Working for the money like you got eight hands
Flat on your back under a mean old man
Just thinking happy thoughts and breathing deep
Between your momma's drive and daddy's belt
It don't take smarts to learn to tune out what hurts more than helps
The pretty girls from the smallest towns
Get remembered like storms and droughts
That old men talk about for years to come
I guess that's why they give us names
So a few old men can say
They saw us rain when we were young
Which one's the birthday boy?
(She said) I ain't got all night
What'd your momma name you?
You can call me what you like