Born west of the river while the city still worked, now I’m begging for a job wearing a dead man’s shirt, and the bulbs burnt out in the downtown lights, slumlords buying up the whole south side.
The good times are over, the good times are over, the days they bought and sold you, their good times are over.
I see fancy cars parked on empty streets, boarded up factories on balance sheets, they’re up in their towers while the country drowns, but the higher you are, the further you’ll fall down.
The good times are over, the good times are over, the days they bought and sold you, their good times are over.
