Alan

Theres a man
Hanging by his pants-seat
While the moon
Is hanging over 4th street
People stop and look at him
They think they understand
They know that youre loaded
And youre crazy
And they think youre stupid
You can trust me
Im your best friend
Nows the time to leave
Before he breaks your nose
Rips your clothes
Makes you bleed
Its okay
Ive got money for a taxi
Yeah
The people in the crowd
Theyre just a bunch of creeps
Just the same
You shouldnt blame
Your problems on the Greeks
Cuz it looks like you need stitches
And that lip wont heal for weeks
Hey dont fall asleep
Your nose bleed on my lap
Hey lean against the window
Hey nevermind
Come back
Alan... Alan... Alan... Alan
Sorry Mr. Kessler
Searched his pockets
No key there
Yeah somebody hit him
Help me drag him up the stair
Kessler takes a look at us
He thinks he understands
He knows that were loaded
And were crazy
And he thinks youre stupid
I prop you at your typewriter
A broomstick up your shirt
I lay your hands across the keys
Ah **** Im suck a jerk
Youve got to be a fighter
The problem with the world is
They dont know
That youre a writer
Alan... Alan... Alan... Alan
You get next
To me