Mean Mr. Mustard says he's bored of life in the district
Can't afford the French Quarter High, says it gets old real quick
And he pales up next to me, scrawled on the pavement
He says son, time is all the luck you need
But if I stay lucky then my tongue 'll stay tied
And I won't betray the things that I hide
There's not enough years underneath this build
For me to admit the way that I felt
Mean Mr. Mustard says don't be the wave that crashes
From a sea of discontent, he says he's wrestled with that blanket
It leaves you cold and wet, anyway you stretch it
Divine apathy, the disease of my youth, watch that you don't catch it
Down the wave that crashes, from
A sea that turns itself
Inside out every chance I get
See what it's like in hell, yeah yeah