Take him in the morning.
Take him in the afternoon.
Take him in the evening.
Take the little golden boy.
Take the little golden boy.

He’ll take you out to his back field.
He’ll teach you how to shoot a gun.
Talk about the color golden, boy.
Take the shine right off your sun.

Gotta run away, stick your boot in the sand.
Did you ever learn to read, boy?
Did you ever learn a thing?
‘Cause everybody wants to make you take the stand.
Leave the Bible, take the ring.

And I’ll know you’re watching from below.
And I’ll know you’re below.

Scribbling only makes a mark; doesn’t make for sanity.
Grinding your ax for a spark, clipping down another tree.
All the history of slang. All the slang you can create.
Electricity passed you by in your sleep, and you slept the sleep
of a child who knows (his fate).

He doesn’t want the charity. He doesn’t fuck publicity.
Won’t be bought and sold, golden boy.
Knows disaster; knows he’s owed.
Knows the dingle-dangle, knows the hips.
Pull the words like skin from his lips.
Knows just where to put it, golden boy.
His knuckles give meaning joy.

How much you want it, want that life?
How much you want it, want that life?
How much you want it, tell mama. How much you want it good?