How can I sing when the first three rows of the audience are throwing all these things at me?nWhat all could they mean?nIf they want me to gonI wish they would just say sonnBaby I can't breathenSo I will sit here underneath this treenWith a magazinenAnd a couple hits of weednnHow can I sleep when the deity is throwing all these crazy fucking dreams at menWhat all does he mean?nIf God don't know nI wish he would just say sonnBaby I can't breathenSo I will sit here underneath this treenWith a magazinenAnd a couple hits of weednnHow can I fail when the proles and their arms are throwing all these loving glances at menswimmin in the seanIf the tide won't go nI wish it would let me knownnbaby nothing gets grownnat 4 a.m. under drunk thumbsnand we go homenalone