I love Newman and his pissy snort
And the way his eyes hood
Like my dad’s did when he was a fool
And not full of us
I watched him talk to a bar of mates
His life shone with before
And I guess he smiled sometimes
But not all white like Paul
Not at all
So together watched The Sting and Butch and Pocket Money
And several others
And he tickled himself
With it going
With it gone into us
But those years of our youth
Were for him to rue
Taken out of our hides
Sometimes with a whiskey smile
And we love those guys
They are nothing to us
He was want to understand what could have been
What became of him
I watch The Prize and wonder
If he ever had it
Or if it is we
That let slip the ball
You can only watch the sun go on
And the moon
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