Pickup's washed and you just got paid, with any luck at all you might even get laid.
Wasting away again in Margaritaville, searching for my lost shaker of salt.
find yourself a lover who will glue you to the floor
We're just recycled history machines, cavemen in faded blue jeans.
Some make the world go round; others watch it turn.
Some people think there's a woman to blame, but I know - it's my own damn fault