Cold Lasagna Blues

The oven needs a cleanin’ and the ‘frigerator’s out of booze.
I say the oven ain’t for cookin’ and the ‘frigerator’s dry of booze.
My drinkin’ hand’s wrapped around some cold lasagna blues.

My clothes all need a launderin’. Everything I’ve got’s worn through.
I’ve got no soap for launderin’ and none for washing me up too.
A good long walk in rain’s about the best clean I might can do.

The oven needs a cleanin’ and the ‘frigerator’s out of booze.
The gas’s shut off and the ‘frigerator’s dry of booze.
My drinkin’ hand’s beatin’ ‘gainst some cold lasagna blues.

I called me a friend who’s always some place else to go.
I tried calling a friend who’d already left me months ago.
He kept asking who’s calling as if he hadn’t reason to know.

The oven needs a cleanin’ and the ‘frigerator’s out of booze.
The microwave’s busted up and the ‘frigerator’s dry of booze.
My drinkin’ hand’s busted with some cold lasagna blues.

One of these days I’ll wake up where leftovers’re good ‘n’ hot.
One day real soon I swear every damn bite’ll be hot.
For now I’ll make do with swallowing a dream that’s not.

The oven needs a cleanin’ and the ‘frigerator’s out of booze.
This ol’ oven’s dead as a casket and the ‘frigerator’s dry of booze.
My drinkin’ hand’s strummin’ to the cold lasagna blues.

 


 
 

by david with cyn (and maggie on harmonica)

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