They say that writers should be
isolated – by a certain degree.
They say a rhyme should be
tied – to some sort of scheme.
They say you can’t do that
and this is how it’s done.
They seem to hide when the
collection plate comes.
Chorus
I’m gonna die!
I just might lose my voice.
I’m gonna die!
This life was not my choice.
I’m gonna die from a lack
of common decency.
I’m gonna die.
They said fill out these forms.
Ask, “who do you know?”
They wanna make sure
you won’t steal the show.
They wanna see ya suffer.
Ask for your membership dues.
They don’t care if your limping
all about in your walking shoes.
Chorus
They seem to have deep pockets
so deep – they can’t reach the funds.
They want you a beggin’ for a life
of peace, solitude and fun.
They live in glass houses – have
all the answers for you.
They can’t understand how a good
man could ever get the blues!