Down Come the Mickey - Cop Shoot Cop

It’s a particular taste in the mouth

Difficult to describe

I checked the secretaries on the subway

Blank pages with paper-punch eyes

And the black boys fresh out of prison

Are saying it’s easy on the inside, it’s just tough on parole

Hey man, we don’t need your money

Yeah, we’re just checking your pockets for holes

And the night crawls by with every cigarette drag

All shallow and twisted like a birth scream

No flash of light, no spark of life, no goddamn tunnel

Just a water-bug in a jet of steam

Down come the Mickey

Down come the Mickey

One more time

Down come the Mickey

My friends are bad Bukowski

And I’m a bad joke that’s repeated at parties

Don’t write it in stone unless it’s an epitaph

These things are worth one laugh

Down come the Mickey

Down come the Mickey

One more time

Down come the Mickey

A hit from behind

Hit from behind

Hit from behind

And this one’s for the ones that got it better than I got

And this one’s for the ones that got it worse

And this one’s for the ones that took it hard with a cheap shot

This one’s for him that wrote this verse

Down come the Mickey

Down come the Mickey

One more time

Down come the Mickey