Buck 65 - 50 Gallon Drum lyrics

My idea of heaven, I enjoy the fixing of a flat tire I like art made of garbage, a little pain is good for you I don't want everything to be made easy for me Fast ain't always better than slow you know A home run every time would start to get boring after a while I hope I never forget how to bleed Static fuzz, hiss, it's just the thing sometimes 50 gallon drum, that's what I'm talking about Give me a hundred bucks to work on your bike And maybe I'll cut your hair for you while I'm at it I wanna work, I'm ready, I wanna take my baby dancing Scary movies on Monday morning, chopping some wood, wind in my tires Chocolate chip cookies, rain in the window, it's the underneath of Paris It's New York from the back, Mount Uniacke in the fall In a moment between heartbeats I'll set fire to the sky Or cut the devil's throat I'm three for four with a double and two stolen bases Having my picture taken with the Amazing Creskin It's a shiny day and the dogsh** smells like strawberries I found a shoebox filled with viewmaster reels I don't have to cut my hair or do math ever again if I don't want to Tell the bounty collectors to kiss my a** I'm a hunter gatherer surveying the junk yards Warrior monk with a month long bus pa** Odd job casanova, I write nothing down and keep my clothes in a guitar case I run with bulls and swim with the pool sharks Perfection is a place where there are two for one milkshakes on Tuesdays It's where you can pay for a room with your good looks The ball parks are always busy and the umpires always make the right call Everyday is halloween and people use plastic Christmas trees They fight with their fists and go to drive-in movies There's no such thing as luck or the dentist and shoes don't hurt your feet I keep a lighter and dog treats In my pockets at all times because you never know I've got a Saint Francis of Assisi keychain And a wallet made of Corinthian leather Sometimes I drive all night and listen to talk radio Sometimes I practice scratching for hours on end Usually I sit in my window and listen to my tapes, I've got all kinds of tapes Hugs and kisses, and treats in a bag In paradise a buck will buy you a comic book, a soda and a candy bar You can always find a place to park or to hide The DJs only play originals and the theatres still have silver screens And Buster Keaton matinees I'm an outlaw faith healer, with sock monkeys for the kids I'm the ringmaster-king of the convenience store parking lot My show is an every man for himself freak fest Pack a lunch and ask for Johnny Rockwell Here your favorite pen works forever but memory parallax It's 70's doing 20's, 50's doing 2000 Everyone's got their own arrow and there ain't no short handled shovels It's under my pillow, it's tomorrow and the next day