Jackie and Jill and Jimmie and Joe went down to the river to watch the water flow. Jackie took Jimmie and Joey took Jill and they all took each other on the moonlit hill. Jackie asks Jillie, "How does it feel with Joe?" She says, "He wets down the garden but the flowers don't grow. It's a long, hard struggle." Jackie meets Jill at the lingerie store. She's looking for a way to make Jimmie notice more. She says, "It's lonely in the bedroom no matter how I tease. He's busy watching TV while I'm down there on my knees." And Jillie says, "Jackie, I know, it makes me kind of miserable. Women want emotional and men just want the visual. It's a long, hard struggle." And Jillie says, "No communication for a thousand generations in this game between the sexes. Man I'm running out of patience. My mother and my father never had real conversations. She was busy making dinner, he was busy with temptation. Again and again and again, the same situation. I'm wondering if it's possible to have a real relationship. I'm finding out most men don't know how to do it. Maybe I'll just have to let a woman get to it." Jackie and Jill on a moonlight swim. Both know they're never gonna make it with Joe and Jim. Jackie says, "Jillie, I don't know what to do. I feel more like a woman when I'm kissing you." And when the morning came down, they had found what they were looking for. Jackie and Jill ain't fighting anymore. It's a long, hard struggle. It's a long, hard struggle.
You come to me with your bloodshot eye and your alibi, telling lies. You come to me but I know where you've been and whose skin you've been in. You've been living the life of the playboy again. Why don't you grow up and be the man she says you claim to be? 'Cause when this juggling act blows up in your face, you'll be left here just bitchin' to me. You've been thinking with Richard again. She's everything you could want, you say, but you still get laid when opportunity comes your way. It's two different things as far as you're concerned, but a liar is a liar and once too much in the fire gets your sorry ass burned. You've been thinking with Richard again and that's why you're in the predicament you're in.
Willie Byrd the 3rd I heard they clipped his wings. He don't fly, don't go high, don't know why the Byrds in this cage still sing. Ain't no heat on Mission St. It's beat, they hardly eat all day. Against the wall as all that salty soul food just gets thrown away. Winters on the kitchen floor, the flaming oven's open jaw like summer's burning bedroom claw, but not as fierce and not as raw. Dig it. Demo's cool in school, he plays the fool for all his mugs in class. Clowns around but division's got him down. The boy is hardly passing. Tries to rise but the criticizing eyes just see another stupid kid. They don't take the time to find that precious mine their in his head. Willie Byrd, T. and Jerome, though the bell has rung, ain't going home. Demo kicks it down to the gym. He knows his boys be waitin' on him to play afternoon basketball. Doin' it up and down the court. Don't matter if you're tall or short. You play afternoon basketball. Catch a lay up on the fly, ham it up when the girls go by. You say afternoon basketball. Jerome's daddy ain't nowhere to be found and Willie Byrd's just flew. Demo's brother is doin' 7 for fives and dimes and that .22 he had. Grandma Byrd says, "He got what he gave. The boy just ain't no good. Could have stayed in school but now he's nothing but some lowly hood." Willie lies in bed at night and prays, "Dear Jesus, make it right. Bring my daddy home to stay so maybe Sundays, he and I could play afternoon basketball." Willie Byrd the 3rd, the word I heard is that he had a 4th. Took his sweet Latisha and their baby boy to live up north. Don't know why the years all fly and suddenly the boy is ten. Works real hard down at the yard. Never seen his pop again. But Willie Byrd done made a vow to bring that boy up good somehow. Been there every single day and Sundays now they both go out and play afternoon basketball.
As much as we'd like to believe you, there's no such thing as a moderate nazi. Your assurances only deceive you. Nobody else here will fall for that story. You either are or you aren't. As much as we'd like to believe you, nazis don't usually reform and find Jesus. You hate me and everyone like me. Don't say you don't because you're running for office. You either are or you aren't. You either hate completely with all your soul in a pathetic attempt to remain in control or you don't. There is no gray area here. No tightrope to walk. No fine line to straddle. You either are or you aren't. And if you should decide that you are, please please please stay where you are.
Have you heard the news? Rome is falling down. It's really such a pity. This used to be one hell of a town. Have you heard the news? Rome is cracking up. The emperor is crazy and the whold damn city's corrupt. Fiddle away, fiddle away. It's all just burning down and he continues to play. Fiddle away, fiddle away. My, what would Julius Caesar and Marc Anthony say? Have you heard the news? Rome is caving in. The worm is in the apple and the rotting is about to begin.
She knows that it's not fair to dangle it in front of me. She knows that it's not fair that her losing soul's confusing me. And she knows that it's not fair to make advances and never make a move. But her feet are in the glue and she's shackled to what mom and dad would do on Marsh Avenue. She can't stop those feeling running down her face. She can't clean that mess of a place and she can't stop those clouds from following her around. She can't be with me yet she can't be without me even for a day. She can't stand the pain of peeling me away. She can't stop those fears from paralyzing. She's not realizing me under all those shreds of what already made her dead. She can't see my soul for what it really is. She keeps confusing mine with his and she knows it's not right that I can't sleep at night.
All songs by StephenBard/Cherie Lynn.
Published by Cenpro Music (BMI).  Copyright 2000.