Happy birthday, you're halfway to 60 You have no land of your own A job you despise And a lover that's mean And you started noticing a disturbing thing Birds eating other birds just beyond the screen So you packed up your things and hopped on the freeway headed east And you drove for eight days aimlessly Telling yourself to be humble Singing to yourself to be free Being full aware that it's a middle-age crisis type thing And you drove 'til you saw a sign for a town called Luckey Spelled L-U-C-K-E-Y Where the sugar towers rise to line and meet the streets Checked into a motel, slept on cardboard sheets That covered the bloodstained mattress underneath Went to the local bar and you got yourself a drink Telling yourself to be humble Singing to yourself to be free It's a middle-age crisis type thing It was the most ragtag group you had ever seen A slender man with a moustache on both sides nothing in between Looking like a preacher son who had given into the devil-worshipping scene He was a real looker and he bought you a drink And you proceeded to tell him everything And you were getting a bit hysterical it seemed You laughed like a carburetor and then you screamed All the doubt and the disbelief Telling yourself to be humble Singing to yourself to be free It's a middle-age crisis type thing And he told you how he came to be As an altar boy by his father's knees And how he came to lose his faith There was no touching but advances were made And his father's hand in slow motion it was approaching him And the doubt and disbelief crept over his young heart like the black ocean A stormcloud, a hurricane if you will A stormcloud, a hurricane Telling yourself to be humble Singing to yourself to be free It's a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing Go home lady, find yourself happy It's just a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing
Happy birthday, you're halfway to 60 You have no land of your own A job you despise And a lover that's mean And you started noticing a disturbing thing Birds eating other birds just beyond the screen So you packed up your things and hopped on the freeway headed east And you drove for eight days aimlessly Telling yourself to be humble Singing to yourself to be free Being full aware that it's a middle-age crisis type thing And you drove 'til you saw a sign for a town called Luckey Spelled L-U-C-K-E-Y Where the sugar towers rise to line and meet the streets Checked into a motel, slept on cardboard sheets That covered the bloodstained mattress underneath Went to the local bar and you got yourself a drink Telling yourself to be humble Singing to yourself to be free It's a middle-age crisis type thing It was the most ragtag group you had ever seen A slender man with a moustache on both sides nothing in between Looking like a preacher son who had given into the devil-worshipping scene He was a real looker and he bought you a drink And you proceeded to tell him everything And you were getting a bit hysterical it seemed You laughed like a carburetor and then you screamed All the doubt and the disbelief Telling yourself to be humble Singing to yourself to be free It's a middle-age crisis type thing And he told you how he came to be As an altar boy by his father's knees And how he came to lose his faith There was no touching but advances were made And his father's hand in slow motion it was approaching him And the doubt and disbelief crept over his young heart like the black ocean A stormcloud, a hurricane if you will A stormcloud, a hurricane Telling yourself to be humble Singing to yourself to be free It's a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing Go home lady, find yourself happy It's just a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing It's a middle-age crisis type thing
