I've got too much baggage My head's filled with rat shit I can't shake it I spill all my ashes In bed, in the bath where We laid shaving Tell me what you're running away from Tell me what you tell em to make em Follow such a fortunate faker My god My god My god My god Goodnight to the Buddhist in Bushwick With the advice for my twenty in ones & Those red eyes he said quit covering up My god, you're water not rust There's nothing left worth running away from I'll tell you what she tells em to make em Follow such a fortunate faker My god My god My god My god