Mean Mr. Mustard says he's bored Of life in The District Can't afford the French Quarter high Says it gets old real quick And he pales up next to me Scrawled on the pavement It says Son, time is all the luck you need
And if I stay lucky, then my tongue will stay tied And I won't betray the things that I hide There's not enough years underneath this belt For me to admit the way that I felt
Mean Mr. Mustard says: Don't be The wave that crashes From a sea of discontent He says he's wrestled with that blanket It leaves you cold and wet Any way you stretch it Divine apathy, disease of my youth Watch that you don't catch it
And if I stay lucky, then my tongue will stay tied And I won't betray the things that I hide There's not enough years underneath this belt For me to admit the way that I felt
