Little Bones
It gets so sticky down here
Better butter your cue-finger up
It's the start of another new year
Better call the newspaper up, two-fifty
For a hi-ball and a buck and a half
For a beer, happy hour
Happy hour, happy hour is here
The long days of Shockley are gone
So is football Kennedy style
Famous last words taken all wrong
Wind up on the very same pile
Two-fifty for a decade
And a buck and half for a year happy hour
Happy hour, happy hour is here
I can cry, beg and whine
To every rebel I find
Just to give me a line I could use to describe
They'd say, baby, eat this chicken slow
It's full of all them little bones
Baby, eat this chicken slow
It's full of all them little bones
So regal and decadent here
Coffin-cheaters dance on their graves music
All it's delicate fear
Is the only thing that don't change
Two-fifty for an eyeball
And a buck and a half for an ear happy hour
Happy hour happy hour is here
Nothing's dead down here
Just a little tired they'd say
Nothing's dead down here
It's just a little tired
Nothing's dead down here
Just a little tired
Nothing's dead down here
It's just a little tired
Baby, eat this chicken slow
It's full of all them little bones
Baby, eat this chicken slow
It's full of all them little bones
Little bones
Full of all them little bones
Little bones
Writer/s: The Tragically Hip
