[Verse 1] Well, I started out in Little Rock, just a-pickin’ on my lute, Till I met a man in a power tie and a very expensive suit. He said, "Come on down to the mansion, son, we’re havin’ us a spree, Bill’s got the saxophone out, and Hill’s pourin’ the tea." We had a time, oh what a time, the champagne flowed like rain, I woke up with a headache and a gap inside my brain. But lately things are lookin’ slim around my social tree, 'Cause everyone who danced that night is gone—except for me. [Chorus] Oh, we had some wild parties with Bill and Hillary, But now my contact list is lookin’ like a ghost town tragedy. My best friend Jim, and Cousin Tim, and a fella named "The Mack," All went and shot themselves... right in the middle of the back. With a twelve-gauge double-barrel, it’s a miracle of grace, How they reached around the shoulder blade to exit through the face. I’m lookin’ in the mirror, and I’m lookin’ at the door, I don’t think I’ll be headin’ back to Chappaqua no more. [Verse 2] Now, the Sheriff says it’s "suicide," he says the case is closed, Even if the victim’s feet were tied and his eyelids were all sewed. It’s a localized epidemic, a strange and deadly flu, That only hits the folks who knew a certain "thing or two." I went to check on Ol’ Joe Bob, the bravest of the bunch, He said he had a secret that he’d tell me after lunch. But when I got to Joe Bob’s house, the scene was mighty grim, He’d tripped and fell on twenty knives—it was just the luck of him. [Chorus] Oh, we had some wild parties with Bill and Hillary, But now my contact list is lookin’ like a ghost town tragedy. My lawyer Pete, and Neighbor Skeet, and a guy who drove a hack, All went and shot themselves... right in the middle of the back. With a twelve-gauge double-barrel, it’s a miracle of grace, How they reached around the shoulder blade to exit through the face. I’m lookin’ in the mirror, and I’m lookin’ at the door, I don’t think I’ll be headin’ back to Chappaqua no more. [Bridge] I’m hiddin’ in the cellar with a tin-foil hat on tight, I’m jumpin’ at the shadows in the middle of the night. I saw a black Suburban parked out by the Piggly Wiggly, And now my knees are knockin’ and my stomach’s feelin’ giggly. Is it a coincidence? Is it just a streak of luck? Or am I just the next one due to get hit by the truck? [Guitar Solo - Played in a frantic, minor-key bluegrass style] [Verse 3] I’m checkin’ all my windows and I’m boltin’ up the gate, I’ve lost about twenty pounds from the stress upon my plate. I haven’t seen a soul in weeks, I’m lonely as a stone, But I’m terrified of pickin’ up the ringin’ of the phone. If you find this here recording in a dusty old guitar, Just know I never owned a gun or traveled very far. And if I end up in a rug beside the interstate, Just tell the world I’m sorry that I stayed out way too late. [Outro] Am I next? Well, the odds are lookin’ high. I’m allergic to the led that’s fallin’ from the sky. Keep your saxophones and your secret files, I’m headin’ for the hills, I’ve had enough of "Clinton Thrills" and "Governmental Chills." [Fade out with the sound of a door locking and a nervous whistle]
