Lyrics

I thought the chance, it was a hundred to one On one thumb I could count up the percentage of my coming undone But then some calculation of impatiently fated rhymes: Sour patch ribbon to the wreck of my valentine That a fine mess like this should get dished I would have made it more unlikely if I had one wish I take ish with the interstitial liquid bliss And insist another double on the rocks with twist This is a fist full of good credit This is a circumstance that I must edit I said it ever thusly, with the bust knee You could trust me Can't front without two feet to step fuss-free But see, that's just fine. I lost mine Handed then the bandit (thin) my last dime Watched the wheels spin, thinking infinitesimal My ten-decimal chance. The professional Gamblers scoffed (but the bells went off)