The Back Alley
Words and Music by John Wolfe Compton
Smokin’ in the alley, talking to bums
Just moved to Cali’, talking life as it comes,
I’m a hired gun, but can’t get no higher
Spiraling out of control, with my bugged-out desires
Out of the frying pan, and into the fire
At my ropes end, the situation is dire
Too much, too soon, now I can’t even play
Phantom from the party, no-talk-walk-away
Michael Jackson dance party,
grab ahold of the bacardi
Burning down crushies
Like I was Enzo Ferrari
Wake up the whole neighborhood, my music’s electric
My style is frenetic, My taste runs eclectic
Scream into the mic, in a state of delirium,
I make crazy demos, but you’re never even hearing them
Low profiling, you know I never get into trouble
Everywhere I go I walk to, you know I don’t leave the bubble
Off to the liquor store, it’s the third time tonight
A possum poses on a post, in the pale moonlight
