Down to this de Soul Coughing

You get the ankles
and i get the wrists.
you get the ankles
and i get the wrists.
you get the ankles
and i get the wrists.
you come down to this.
Nerves are up
and the eyes all screwy
blood like a panful
of boiling ratatouille
Hang from the axles of a box car
follow the dotted line
like a steer to chicago
to the hooks of the chicago man
I get all tripped up
my eyes turn to water
rug burns from a shag rug
struck dumb in the presence
polyester burns from a jacket
rub the skin thin
break down in a diner
then i pay the bill
Cashier toothpick stuck in the ground
tiny lawnmower to mow me down
i could get lost in a lunchbox
lie low in the mittens in the lost and found