It’s a fine line between Saturday night and Sunday morning.
Wrinkles will only go where the smiles have been.
Go fast enough to get there, but slow enough to see.
If I couldn’t laugh, I just would go insane. If we couldn’t laugh, we just would go insane. If we weren’t all crazy, we would go insane.
Mirror that lies, mirror that lies, that can’t be me in the gorilla disguise.
I arm myself with punch lines and a big old water gun.
Be good, and you will be lonesome, be lonesome and you will be free. Live a lie and you will live to regret it, that’s what living is to me.
My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don’t love Jesus. It’s that kind of morning.
I know I should be leaving this climate, I’ve got a verse, but can’t rhyme it.
Without geography you’re nowhere.
You’ve been acting like Jesus owes you a favor, but he’s a little smart for you to fool.
If someone wants a piece of you, never let them pay. What you do not give to them time takes anyway.
I’m getting old, don’t wear underwear, and I don’t go to church.
Drive-in, you guzzle gin, commit a little mortal sin.
Maybe roll in the sand with a rock and roll man.
Being rich and famous seems to have its ups and downs. That’s the price you pay for being troubadours and clowns.
I got quarters in my loafers trying to fight inflation when it only used to take a cent.
I want to keep going as I have, to travel, read, perform, write, and enjoy my family. I’ve promised myself only this: no more Laundromats, no more two-shows-a-night, and no more deadlines. I’ll work at my own pace.
I remember the excruciating school task of writing a three-page term paper. But, oh, that feeling when I was done! I think I drive myself for that feeling of accomplishment.
Life is a journey that’s measured not in miles or years but in experiences, and the route your life takes is built not of roads but of songs.
I’m growing older but not up, my metabolic rate is pleasantly stuck. Let the hands of time blow over my head, I’d rather die while I’m living, then live while I’m dead...