Mean Mr. Mustard says he's bored
Of life in The District
Can't afford the French Quarter high
Says it gets old real quick
And he pales up next to me
Scrawled on the pavement
It says
Son, time is all the luck you need

And if I stay lucky, then my tongue will stay tied
And I won't betray the things that I hide
There's not enough years underneath this belt
For me to admit the way that I felt

Mean Mr. Mustard says: Don't be
The wave that crashes
From a sea of discontent
He says he's wrestled with that blanket
It leaves you cold and wet
Any way you stretch it
Divine apathy, disease of my youth
Watch that you don't catch it

And if I stay lucky, then my tongue will stay tied
And I won't betray the things that I hide
There's not enough years underneath this belt
For me to admit the way that I felt