I’m sick of only making peanuts.
I’m sick of stale sandwich bread.
I’ve got a plan to make it better
And it begins with a simple punch to my head.
Another count and I’m down but I’m wearing him down.
Keeping the faith that I’ve got what it takes.
Deride my pride but I’ll be alright.
I’ve got a Rocky II lunchbox with bills in it
And I’ll scrape by.
I have seen this on some episode
Of Maude, Fish, Chips, or the White Shadow
Rerun in my mind a thousand times
Though I forget the channel.
But I am back in my corner with ice packs and water
The champ’s right hook changing my good side to bad.
Too late to make a run for the van
The doc leans in timidly asking about my health plan
I can see the referee wants to go home
(homey’s got a wife and family)
And my detractors clap their hands and blow their smoke
(Headline news in next day’s sportspage.)
With every second that goes by
I don’t mind my swollen eyes.
‘Cause I bet on myself and I’m making a killing.
My opponent planned victory, I planned to lose.
My bookie is crying, my wife thinks I’m dying
But I’ve got a nest egg that’s hatching in the final round.
And as I fall to the floor I don’t feel so hardcore
My teeth swinging loose like a drunk girl’s caboose
My boys in the corner are pensive and somber
And Father O’Reilly is crossing himself more and more
I can see the referee want to go home
(Homey’s got a wife and family)
And my detractors move their feet and blow their smoke
(Headline news in next day’s sportspage).
‘Cause I bet on myself and I’m making a killing.
My opponent planned victory, I planned to lose.
My bookie is crying, my wife thinks I’m dying
But I’ve got a nest egg that’s hatching in the final round.
And the room spins round and round…
The victory party’s at my place
After my loss and my disgrace.
‘Cause I bet on myself and I’m making a killing.
My opponent planned victory, I planned to lose.
My bookie is crying, my wife thinks I’m dying
But I’ve got a nest egg that’s hatching in the final round.
