Текст Soul Coughing – Down To This

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists
You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists
You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists
You come down to this

Nerves are up and the eyes all screwy
Blood like a panful of boiling ratatouille
My muscles in a mess like a mess of spaghetti
Hack through the mess with a greased-up machete

Hang from the axles of a boxcar
Follow the dotted line like a steer to Chicago
But to the hooks of the Chicago man

And I said, well
You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists
You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists
You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists
You come down to this

I get all tripped up — my eyes turn to water
Rug burns from a shag rug, struck dumb in the presence
Polyester burns from a jacket rub the skin thin
Break down in a diner then I paid the bill

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists
You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists
You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists
You come down to this

Cashier toothpick stuck in the ground
Tiny lawnmower to mow me down
I could get lost in a lunchbox
Lie low in the mittens in the lost and found

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists
You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists