Lyrics

It’s Monday morning in Chicago
The rain is falling and she can’t go on
He’s barely waking back at their studio
Has no idea he’s weighing them down

She steps onto the L, knows the routine too well
Making ends meet as a dental hygienist
He makes a cup o’joe, tunes up his old banjo
Writes a new song, you see, he’s an artist

BUT IT’S NO WAY TO MAKE A LIVING, WRITING SONGS ON YOUR OLD BANJO
WHILE YOUR LADY CLEANS THE DENTURE OF SOME OLD FELLOW,
FOR SO LITTLE DOUGH
AND IT’S NO WAY TO LIVE YOUR LIFE, TAKING DENTAL X-RAYS ON RAINY DAYS
WHILE YOUR BEAU WRITES A SONG ON HIS OLD BANJO NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW

The clouds have lifted, city lights glow
As she makes her way back home, beaten and down
She finds him beaming, watching a game show
He can't wait to sing her the new song he wrote

But she bursts into tears, spills out that all her fears
Are coming true,
THE BABY, STILL UNBORN, WILL NEED MORE THAN A SONG
He tries to reassure, hesitates, goes demure
Walks out the door, banjo in tow, his first love, you know…

BUT IT’S NO WAY TO SOLVE YOUR PROBLEMS,
TAKING YOUR OLD BANJO OUT FOR A WALK
WHILE YOUR LADY SITS AT HOME, TEARS RUNNING DOWN HER CHEEKS,
HER FUTURE BLEAK
AND IT’S NO WAY TO RAISE A CHILD, THE TOOTH FAIRY GONE TO THE DARK SIDE
WHILE HER BEAU IS AN OVERGROWN BOY WITH A BANJO, WHO NEEDS TO LET IT GO

It’s Tuesday morning, the studio’s empty
She’s fighting a man’s plaque, and the fumes of his old snack
He’s walking to Starbucks, back from the pawnshop
Thinks of a song, then thinks of a job

[forthcoming guitar solo]