Rats in Allston

from by Mickey Rickshaw

/

lyrics

Stuck behind the eight ball of an antiquated system, you fell into the rhythm of the cage.
Education failed you, and after that, they jailed you.
And now you're on your ass with bitter age.
You can warm yourself with whiskey, warm yourself with gin, sleep out on the church steps, but they're not gonna let you in.
Their savior was a failure when you're sleeping in the rain.
The pouring water passes like your life into the drain.

When the sun goes down on the west in a cold cold world that we're lost in,
You'll be sleeping in the gutter, face down with the rats in Allston.

Stuck in the clink, you'll wind up dead. At least you had a roof on your head.
A hot and a cot and a daily bread.
Out on the streets, you don't have a name. You've cut all your ties, you're living in vain.
Nothing to lose, nothing to gain.
You're begging for survival, you're begging for a buck, you're begging for a second chance, but nobody gives a fuck.
Employment's not an option with a record and no skills.
Stuck behind the eight ball, it's the system that had you killed.

credits

from Behind the Eight Ball, released November 1, 2016

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