It's You - Spider Bags

It’s you whose sleeves got broken

And it’s you, sitting on the kerb

It’s five o’clock and the trees are smoking

It’s five o’clock and it’s no longer dark

She got a crooked face when she smiles

Or if she’s nervous, looking over her shoulder

She’s got a dog named after Ike Turner

She calls it ‘good song writer, bad husband'

She won’t drive under that old street light without feeling nervous

And thinking it will fall on her

Like it did poor David (?)

And I’ll remind her those summer nights

Doing pills when she couldn’t get drunk

She used to be too young for that shit

And now she’s just too old

And it’s you (it's you)

Painting her shutter (it's you)

Your bucket’s got a hole in it and you’re finding it hard to move

With those plaster casts on your legs

You both were waiting for something to happen

And it’s you (it's you)

It’s you, it’s you (it's you)