(chorus)
I've been shot down in heaven
I've been beat up in hell
I gave my last 20 bucks to the world for the funeral
I spend most of my time just drinking alone
Riding around on the trains pretending Im going home
I got this cough that just wont quit
There's something funny about a sickness that keeps you bed-written but just wont sit
So I got this limp in my smile and none in my wrist
But I swear Bukowski still put his kiss of approval on this
See I stay PISSED on the GRIP thats PUMPING whisky and wine
Ohh I keep my dollars in dimes, if you make sense out of women
Now im pushing 200 (lbs) after my guilt weighs in
Because Im a prizefighter, I just rise higher and higher
Like inflation and fire, Ive taken more hits then the porn empire
Because Im a prizefighter, I get drunk off the punch, I get broken ribs off the hunch
That I know where all the washed up writers (fighters) go to die
They simply, Just go inside
They simply, just go inside
(chorus)
The sweat drips, the legs shake, I got a loose grip on a hand grenade
Im almost to sleep on the north bound train
Where if the whisky lets me I can dream of the prizefight again
Its the twelfth round and Im hunkered down against the ropes
I can see the crowd, I can feel their hope
But I know those dogs will turn if I hit the mats too soon
Like all these bright lights that just go out in the afternoon
Because Im a prizefighter, I just rise higher and higher, like inflation and fire
Ive taken more hits than the porn empire
Because Im a prizefighter, I dress in casts and stitches over women and riches
Until the man comes and asks me for my ticket
Then he kicks me off the train in the middle of my prizefight again
In the middle of my prizefight again.
(chorus)
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Lyrics submitted by mark.