Monica Three

Sometimes with this pay, you just don't know, what it takes, the same with those, who forget to show, don't understand the flow, and when you say, give me a blow, another one turns up late, they break your bones, as if they know, you can’t get by alone, you really need a mate, sunlit hills come with stones, you'll have to wait, the café trade is slow, red wine’s not to waste, a crowded bar would atone, for some a happy day, listening to a jazz solo, a cigarette to taste, it brings me home.