Barefoot Gold

Gambling machines at Kmart
And a hopped-up kid says the F-word
All night, all night, all night, all night
Like a baby farts
I can tell by the look on your face
That you're going to hell with your barefoot gold, your nightgown
With twinkles in your eyes and a broom in your hand
This really is the better life
There's a chandelier and a buzz-in door
With stinky eyes and a buzzard lip
Kanye West convenience store
I can tell where you're coming from
But the loops and the wings and the chicken-fried potatoes
Set me up with a haggled rise of the tips and the tip
You gave the waitress a five
I can see where you're coming from
With your fucked up eggs and a plastic guitar