I’m sick of only making peanuts. I’m sick of stale sandwich bread. I’ve got a plan to make it better And it begins with a simple punch to my head.
Another count and I’m down but I’m wearing him down. Keeping the faith that I’ve got what it takes. Deride my pride but I’ll be alright. I’ve got a Rocky II lunchbox with bills in it And I’ll scrape by.
I have seen this on some episode Of Maude, Fish, Chips, or the White Shadow Rerun in my mind a thousand times Though I forget the channel.
But I am back in my corner with ice packs and water The champ’s right hook changing my good side to bad. Too late to make a run for the van The doc leans in timidly asking about my health plan I can see the referee wants to go home (homey’s got a wife and family) And my detractors clap their hands and blow their smoke (Headline news in next day’s sportspage.) With every second that goes by I don’t mind my swollen eyes.
‘Cause I bet on myself and I’m making a killing. My opponent planned victory, I planned to lose. My bookie is crying, my wife thinks I’m dying But I’ve got a nest egg that’s hatching in the final round.
And as I fall to the floor I don’t feel so hardcore My teeth swinging loose like a drunk girl’s caboose My boys in the corner are pensive and somber And Father O’Reilly is crossing himself more and more
I can see the referee want to go home (Homey’s got a wife and family) And my detractors move their feet and blow their smoke (Headline news in next day’s sportspage).
‘Cause I bet on myself and I’m making a killing. My opponent planned victory, I planned to lose. My bookie is crying, my wife thinks I’m dying But I’ve got a nest egg that’s hatching in the final round.
And the room spins round and round…
The victory party’s at my place After my loss and my disgrace.
‘Cause I bet on myself and I’m making a killing. My opponent planned victory, I planned to lose. My bookie is crying, my wife thinks I’m dying But I’ve got a nest egg that’s hatching in the final round.
