Leave the Lights On John Prine

Feeling kind of bony on the telephoney
Talking to Marconi eating Rice-a-Roni
Nominated for a Tony for acting like a phony
Watching Twilight Zoney on my forty-two inch Sony
This is just a long song, it ain't no poem
Leave the lights on till your baby gets home

It's like sitting in the kitchen when the music's really bitchin'
Your nose, it starts to itchin' as you count your old age pension
Did I forget to mention the ride that I was hitchin'
To the Aluminum convention? I had such good intentions
Keep your cotton pickin' fingers off my song poem
And leave the lights on till your baby gets home

Leave the lights on till your baby gets home
Leave the lights on till your baby gets home
Don't forget your toothbrush, your hairbrush and your comb
Leave the lights on till your baby gets home
Got a big ol' dog, a chrome crowbar
I keep that motherhumper in the back seat of my car

Me and Billy Shakespeare stepped out to get a root beer
We sat together so near, people thought we were queer
Punctuated by the big scare, we joined the Air Force right there
To defend our country first class who couldn't give a rat's ass
Don't you tell me that the White House is my home
Leave the lights on till your baby gets home