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Correct Me On Beer Lyrics
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Correct Me On Beer
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Indecision at high speeds can be fatal In car, on horseback or bicycle Is an old cowboy in a wheelchair still a cowboy Just because he wears the cowboy hat? Or a kid in a stroller with new boots on, Can he be considered a cowboy yet? Maybe you shouldn't call him that until he ropes one 'cause the country folks flock to the cities now The city people move to the suburbs And the suburbs spill into the country But a lotta kids these days deny their birth-right White kids, ashamed of their parents trunk, Attempt to abandon their moneyed-ways They move to the ghettos and the communes Searching for the yokelessness of poverty They wanna sit on the stoop when the night is hot And not be stuck inside by the AC They wanna treat their house like a fish tank They wanna share water with the neighbors when the night is hot But the struggle that pulls doors off their hinges in a good way Also leaves a slow murder in the air
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