Down To This - Soul Coughing

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You come down to this

Nerves are up and the eyes all screwy

Blood like a panful of boiling ratatouille

My muscles in a mess like a mess of spaghetti

Hack through the mess with a greased-up machete

Hang from the axles of a boxcar

Follow the dotted line like a steer to Chicago

But to the hooks of the Chicago man

And I said, well

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You come down to this

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 paid the bill

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You come down to this

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

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You get the ankles and I’ll get the wrists

You come down to this