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This song is by Swingin' Utters and appears on the split album BYO Split Series/Volume II (1999) by Swingin' Utters and Youth Brigade.

The fog comes in and out with the tides like my pocket watch
It doesn't keep the time spitting smoke combustion from foreign cars
Choking my family history with the bloody wars troubador, what's the score?
Standing in line with the tenderloin whores troubador
Take a fucking tour 'cause my eyes are welling up from the last G-chord

Break-time satisfies with tar and nicotine and the church bells
Afternoon licks ring of blasphemy true to filth and form
Bus and trolley off the track and line
Lunch time whistles stop the workers but not the troubador's crime
The pub patrons spend their wages in mumbled bouts
The grub merchants chewed the fat then chewed you out
Pedestrian, night journeyman pass your separate ways
When you're eating from the piss trough they're all pissing in your plate
Troubador, less is more is it in your heart to give up the floor
Troubador, pissed and poor tell me something I haven't heard before

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