It was somewhere in the suburbs of Philadelphia.
A house was gutted, added onto six times its weight.
About a week to go until the move-in date,
And everybody runnin' in a six-day race.
There was bangin', there was buzzin' everybody on their knees.
"Runnin' behind," everyone can agree.
Yet Four O'Clock arrive and someone brought back a case,
And the power went out in the whole damn place.
Property is theft until the thieves are away.
If we did this in a month, we'd be arrested and detained
For draggin' all our brains beyond the barbed-wire chain
And drinkin' on private land.
Bridge
Well, toss the empties in the garden.
The scapers'll scrape 'em out when they come back to dig in,
Maybe leave a cap beneath the root as proof that we exist.
Solo