Loudon Wainwright Iii - The Home Stretch lyrics

If the day off doesn't get you Then the bad reviewer does. At least you've been a has-been And not just a never-was And you know it's not a mountain But no mole hill is this big. And you promise to quit drinking As you light another cig. Once again you're in the home stretch But you're not sure where you live. You recall a small apartment And a government you give Large amounts of money to So you're allowed to stay And rest until you're well enough To leave again and play. You are making human contact With the postcards that you send To the children of your ex-wifes And a woman, your girlfriend. Who is living in a city Thousands of miles away That is full of young male models, Not all of whom are gay. In the meanwhile you've stopped writing songs, There's nothing left to say. You'd like to get your old job back and mow lawns again one day. But you keep lifting up your left leg Sticking out your tongue. There's nothing else that you can do And you're too old to die young! Too many beds, too many towns, Not much to declare zones. London broils and Tuna Melts on dirty microphones. While the sound man's falling fast asleep, The light man's been up for days, The club owner and arithmetic Have long since parted ways. As for the lovely audience, Tonight they're rather cold. But they're prepared to listen, All they have to be is told. If the day off doesn't get you Then the bad reviewer does. At least you've been a has-been And not just a never-was.