The fog comes in and out with the tides
Like my pocket watch it doesn't keep the time
Spitting smoke combustion from foreign cars
Choking my family history with the bloody wars

Troubador, whats the score?
Standing in line with the Tenderloin whores
Troubador, take a fucking tour
'Cause my eyes are welling up from the last g-chord

Break-time satisfies with tar and nicotine
And the church bells afternoon licks ring of blasphemy
True to filth and form bus and trolley off the track and line
Lunch time whistles stop the workers but not the troubador's crime

Troubador, whats the score?
Standing in line with the tenderloin whores
Troubador, take a fucking tour
'Cause my eyes are welling up from the last g-chord

The pub patrons spend their wages in mumbled bouts
The grub merchants chewed the fat then chewed you out
Pedestrian, night journeymen pass your separate ways
When you're eating from the piss trough they're all pissing in your plate

Troubador, less is more
Is it in your heart to give up the floor?
Troubador, pissed and poor
Tell me something I haven't heard before

Troubador, whats the score?
Standing in line with the tenderloin whores
Troubador, take a fucking tour
'Cause my eyes are welling up from the last g-chord


Lyrics submitted by punkpirate

Troubador song meanings
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