outofworkaholic

Outofworkaholic

I know, you know, “it grows old”, so give up, forget, and head home.

But I cannot place myself up for sale.

I believe in that, old time, rock n roll.

And theres nothing thats breaking my soul.

 I’ve seen and heard the act at its best.

I shot and buried the rest.

No, you can’t settle down, without settling.

You can’t grow up, if your giving in.

Your spoon made of silver, can’t hold what you chew, its tarnished and broken.

 I know, this hole, may someday be a home.

4 walls, 1 roof, thats not what I call home.

And if home is where the heart is, why is my home so hard to find.

 I’m a criminal in their eyes, keep your distance and sever your ties.

But I’m not the one who sold his soul.

I’m still playin’ that, old time, rock n’ roll.

Despite from what I’ve been told.

And if I turn myself in, then I’d be like the rest.

They haven’t caught me yet.

Run boy run, they’re on your tail, run boy run, head for the hills.

I shot the sheriff and I’ll surely shoot the deputy.

An outlaw and his pride, thats all there is to me.

I shot the sheriff, he was testin’ me.

I’d walk a thousand miles with a broken spine, before I’d change my mind.

And I’ve seen a thousand people, slave themselves, forcing their way, home is where the heart is.

Why is my home so hard to find.