Fortune's dyin' on the floor, fate's no patience anymore
That's all I've got sure
Take them shakin' outta doors, fortune's fryin' at the core
That's all they're there for
Don't tell the king
'Bout anything
Nothin' but some paper tore up when Saturday's a bore
You're just some paper tore
Saw me some poets with no guitars
The best one said that "chances are
It's all but, all but, second chances on a failed star"
Second chances on a failed star
My old man was eight feet tall
His belt was over eight feet long
That's all that I knew then
Took my chances on a Greyhound bus
The last one out of El Paso was an all-night, alright
Savin' nickels for a sacred trust
Savin' nickels for a sacred trust
Don't tell the king
'Bout anything
Don't tell the king
'Bout anything