Down on skid row
Pick ' pulls, pushing stolen carts
Fishing for things others have thrown away
Looking for a place to stay,
To spend the night with money made
Having just paved the day for a brown paper bag of promises.
Back beneath the fire escape, in between the alley way
Behind the church of Latter-day
Wrapped up in newspaper
Purty face, frozen eyes
Bloody hands from killing time
Horizons where tomorrow lies
Best just to curl up and die
Perhaps a bit burlesque
With a dinner jacket, pinstripe pants, a pan handlebar mustache,
And a flower from the pocket of the vest
Tongue sticking out of the shoes
Dragging along the avenue
Thirsty for a little hooch
To set adrift in the eve
Unlucky and hungry, underneath the clover leaf
Up against the concrete
No idea, no idea
Just something that nobody loves
And you do what everybody does
To make a great coffee cup,
You need an old, ugly mug.