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I sent the fiddle packing
You made the mascara run
We sat down to the hard work
Of who to blame for fun

It was a little before
You couldn't break the news
That we couldn't have the money
You'd been keeping in your shoes

That was when I stopped trying
To be friends with the real world

I got back to fighting shape
You explained what mash notes are
I wouldn't squash that grape
You wouldn't go that far

You said, sweet feet, listen
Let's run with the salmon
I said creole waltz,
Let's get in the car and drive up to the Schwangunks

And that was when I stopped trying
To write American songs
And looked back in the morning
At what could and could not be