Take what Lady Luck told you,
That runaway in red with her
Golightly cigarette.
She makes a home out of me;
I need a home out of her,
Cuz there's no damn denying
How cold it is on the street -
No keys, no car, nothing
Except for that little fold of paper
And not being able to help but think
Something's gotta give.

Lady Luck, I don't wanna
Chew on the marrow of my bones anymore.
Dregs of antifreeze are in my drink
And Lord help me I think
My ribs have become a church hall
Waiting for a god of food.
They only ever shake their heads at me,
"Rinse and repeat, buddy-boy,
You've got to get those stains out somehow"
But all I've got are puddles and
A prayer to a woman who spends her time
In the mouths and beds of a million other men.
She leaves me sipping rainwater on the curb,
Sprawled swaddled in tissue-thin polyester,
Groveling to strangers on torn-knee jeans,
My pride thrown away like some newspaper
Whistling down an alley.

Lady Luck could turn my fortune on its head
Lady Luck in her slinky scarlet nightgown
Could blow that cinnamon smoke right at their faces
But M'selle Fortuna, oh, she
Only ever dropped her ashes in my eyes;
I sleep on concrete corners and beg on cardboard creases
World knows I could chat up Chance
To an art for all the good that it'd do.
I guess that's all it'll ever come to:
A life on the pavement, watching and waiting
(Forget wishing, punk) with
Eyes peeled to wink -

"Gotta hand it to you, kid,
You sure know how to talk up a storm."