Caught the twelve thirty from ashmont station 32 ounces with the rum mixed in God knows I need it with the way I've been living Self medicated, chemical salvation Afternoon show up at central station When the music hits I don't feel no pain Now I'm outside in the cold again trying to find my way The sun is setting in the combat zone The streets are empty all the bars are closed And I'm walking thru government center Trying to find my way back home Dodging the cops at the ATMs Three third hand suits and a record collection From late night raids on the salvation army bins Whatever god I pray to must be broke as me Got a busted 4 track and a dead end job Up at the downs on friday trying to make it pay off On a twelve to one, but I got shut out Man I'd be late to my own fuckin' funeral Read the headlines passing out of town news Says the world is still fucked and run by fools And it don't seem to matter which drugs you use It still turns out the same This record spins the same old song The speaker's blown and the needle's worn Don't matter nothing in the end They say when you leave You can never go home again.