It was seven o'clock in the morning
Too late to handle the day
At home it was only two thirty
The skin on my wrists turning grey
He stood up, wished us good luck
He changed his attitude twice
The box in the corner shivered in fear
It was tired and hungry for days
The next year she bought a new stomach
Of Liverpool made in Detroit
Constantly passing old matches
Some sentries and millionaires
Who did? Gallagher did
The same old thing every time
Gave up more empty cups
They were tired and hungry for nights
It made life a little easier
To have Holland on the run
It didn't take that long to forget her
My old man and his gun
Rushed out, lions about
Wasting away on advice
A hundred and three, four hundred or more
It'll haunt you for the rest of your life
