HOPHEAD

I'm limping through days of wine and plenty of overtime
Stone in my shoe, you put it there I saw you
Hophead, return, enough of holidays
Drop that sugar cone, make the highway burn

My bottle's bursting: drab & dreary, I feel like an urchin
Hophead, come home

Just like coming home, heading south on Saturday
I dance alone, wretched to the bone
I don't mind at all, I have my dinner of cigarettes
I fly my kite through the disco lights