You pick up this working girl Who's hooked on smack Who hustles and scores That's all I do, she says She says, ten bucks for head, fifteen for half and half She says, three hits a day at thirty-five per You say, that's seven tricks a day at least But she says, sometimes I get lucky Once this guy gives me a bill and a half just to eat me Only time I ever came
You figure you can save her
You sell your color TV That keeps her off the streets a whole day You hawk your typewriter for one jobe Then your shotgun, your watch A week later you say, listen I'm a little short But she says, no scratch, no snatch You say, look, it is better to give But she says, beat off, creep
One night they spot you on the street in your skivvies Trying to sell your shoes You tell them who you are But they nail you Then she happens by And she says, Christ you look fucked She says, hang tough
But you don't say anything You just think, what a bum wrap for a nice sensitive guy like me