Won't you get your clothes
And your bunch of roses
Scattered 'cross the floor
Won't you get your suit
And your army boots
And walk right out the door

Won't you get your shoes
And your bootlegged booze
That you keep in there
Won't you take your scars
To the hotel bar
Someone there might care

Won't you get your earphones
And your bag of bones
Other body parts
Won't you get your face
And your beauty case
You're a work of art

Won't you get your tears
And your souvenirs
From a desert island
Won't you take your blue eyes
And your clowdy skies
To a wheatherman

Won't you get your purse
And your gypsy curse
It can't be paid off
Won't you get your flowers
And your evil powers
I call your bluff

Won't you get your bills
And your own free will
But you still have to pay
Won't you take your voice
And a record of choice
Silently away

Won't you get your mind
And your Venetian blinds
To hide it from the eye
Won't you get your brain
And if you're not insane yet
Keep it cold and dry

Won't you get your heart
And your medical chart
Ya didn't get sick from me
Won't you get your dope
And a length of rope
In case you don't OD

Won't you get your cane
And your ball and chain
It's not an easy route
Won't you get your feet
Take 'em to the streets
Oh, won't you get out

© Tale 2003, 2004. Performed by Tale/Theo Niessink. Written by Theo Niessink.