Three quarts drunk
193
Happyman smiles almost every single day,
too numb to notice that he's walking in a haze,
he's pushed himself here and doesn't know what to do.
Choked by the clock and he doesn't know what to do.
I say, you say, you say its work, yeah its work all day.
Happyman is mad at the world
(green grasses, picket fences, liquid lunches lost his senses)
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