Text: The Walkmen. A Hundred Miles Off. This Job Is Killing Me.

:
He clears his throat
And he?s driving up his crowd.
He used to sway,
But he?s turned it all around.
Yeah, he?s mopping up his brow.
Yeah, he?s taking his time.
Working his crowd.

He?s lunging two words
Atop a bus.
He?s talking all day long.
He?s always telling us,
?It?s easy to get around.
Man, I know my stuff.
When I get home I?m alone for just so much.
Honey, this job is killing me.?

He lost his voice
When he got back home.
He?s at it hard
But now he?s turned it all around.
Yeah, he?s turned it all around.
Yeah, but now he?s at home,
And he?s counting his cash.
He?s popping pills and he?s calling his ex.
He lost his voice.
But he?s all right.
He says he?s happy now
Driving that bus around.
? job
?believe it now.
He?s turned it all around.
But honey, this job is killing me