We have to cut you loss sir    we’ve got a million mouths on strike   everybody’s talking so who’s right?    one’s a profit one’s a loser    he treats his mornings like their nights   collasing though he’s always fresh and ripe   All my teachers were all failed authors   even though you dance you’re dancing    cheek to cheek with them    my night’s been ruined by bows and actors who’ve all grown soft and try to give it all away      You can’t consider   there’s been no offer    even know it’s best to keep your mouth quiet   and thought I hate to say it all the bills were late   and all that shit you pull    we look the other way   and you’ve all grown soft and try to give it all away