I got a hair cut, a dress shirt   A St. Paulie's girl   But I don't need any of that      I got a number on a napkin   A soup can to sing through   A tune in its worst mood      I got a temper like a fistfight   And a tab after midnight   And a right fast woman      And there'll be hell to pay   After Los Angeles   And you won't believe   What I?ve seen      This town is a workshop   For wordsmiths and grifters   And misters and misses   And cheeks full of kisses      And all of you bidders   Can't wait till I'm bitter   I've got a fever   Like the boulevard summer   And a right fast woman      And there'll be hell to pay   After Los Angeles   And you won't believe   What I?ve seen      Bury me beside you when I die   When I'm dead and gone   Mama, sing me to sleep while you weep   But don't weep at all      'Cause there'll be hell to pay   After Los Angeles   And you all won't believe   What I?ve seen      And there'll be hell to pay   After Los Angeles   And I'm just another fool along the scene      You can find me in the back   And if you don't fucking care   Then why did you ask?      You can find me in the back   And if you don't fucking care   Then why did you ask?      You can find me well, in the back   And if you don't fucking care   Then why did you ask?   Why did you ask? Why did you ask?   Why did you ask? Why did you ask?