From the recording New Western Trail Songs
Too Much Paste
Road debris, road debris,
On the side of the highway on my knees,
Thinking 'bout women, thinking 'bout giving it up.
I say foolish things and I'm bound to mess it up.
Message me, I'll message you,
I'll show you what a fool can do.
I've got 20 kinds of rhyme you've never heard.
You'll be sending me to junk mail un-preferred.
I know that I should just shut my mouth
And take my words back to my house
And sing them to my self with my guitar,
Instead of letting you pretty women put 'em in a jar.
Jars like that are bound to break:
They cannot hold the words I make
And pretty soon they spill out on the floor.
You'll be sweeping ‘em up back at me, Won't see me no more.
Now I am alone again,
It's the way it starts, the way it ends.
I just can't seem to keep my damn mouth shut.
I got too much paste and I just can't make the cut.
Too much paste, I'm spilling out Everything I think about.
I guarantee you I can find the word
That'll make you, baby, cage me like a bird.
I would let you, baby, cage me like a bird.