You get the ankles   and I get the wrists.   You get the ankles   and I get the wrists.   You get the ankles   and I get the wrists.   You come down to this.      Nerves are up   and the eyes all screwy   Blood like a panful   of boiling ratatouille   Muscles in a mess like a mess of spaghetti    Hack through the mess with a greased-up machete       Hang from the axles of a box car   Follow the dotted line   Like a steer to Chicago   to the hooks of the Chicago man      I get all tripped up   my eyes turn to water   rug burns from a shag rug   struck dumb in the presence   polyester burns from a jacket   rub the skin thin   break down in a diner   then I pay the bill      cashier toothpick stuck in the ground   tiny lawnmower to mow me down   I could get lost in a lunchbox   lie low in the mittens in the lost and found