Ben Folds - Doc Pomus

LRC by lzh, from jiangxi pingxiang

@ @

Man in a wheelchair, lobby of the Forrest

With freighters, hustlers, hard-up millionaires.

Mobsters, cops, whores, pimps and Marxist.

All human life is there.

Man in a wheelchair listens to the chatter,

Writes down all the insane crap he hears.

He can't move around, but it doesn't really matter

In the Forrest all you need is eyes and ears.

And out they pour, the hits and the misses.

Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,

And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.

Pomus/Shuman, 1962.

And he never could be one of those happy cripples,

The kind that smile and tell you life's OK.

He was mad as hell, frightened and bitter.

He found a way to make his feelings pay.

Back at the Forrest, in the steakhouse of the lobby,

The diner gets three bullets in the head.

Doc looks down, eating his linguine,

Thinking up a lyric for the dead.

And out they pour, the hits and the misses.

Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,

And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.

Pomus/Shuman, 1962.

Fred Neil, Jack Benny, crazy Phil Spector,

Pumpkin Juice and Eydie Gorm

Damon Runyon Jr. and the Duke's orchestra

All superhuman life was there

And he never could be one of those happy cripples

The kind that smile and tell you life's OK

He was mad as hell, frightened and bitter

He found a way to make his isolation pay

And out they pour, the hits and the misses.

Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,

And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.

Pomus/Shuman, 1962.

And out they pour, the hits and the misses.

Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue,

And down in Nashville, they always sing Suspicion.

Pomus/Shuman, 1962.