There is no rest for the wicked,
Mostly when it’s close to your 40’s
Mostly if you have lost nearly all you hair from your body
Maybe’cause you felt many times as a fallen blossom.
Ain’t no rest for the wicked,
The soul said to me, it was hanging around and yelling
Moving Far West
As a mate attached to destiny.
There won’t be a rest for the wicked,
The old lady cramped
But it remains loose
Don’t bother you look for
The sidewalk still will be clear.
