It was in 1949
That he wore the golden gloves
Knockin' heads and boffin' pussy
Were his greatest loves
He dreamed of being one
Of the great heavy weight Micks
He never was very fast
But he hit like a ton of bricks
He once could have been
The great white hope
In bed at night he prayed
To become the pugilist Pope
But the blows he took began
To outnumber the blows he dished out
Now a round with the bottle
Will be his final bout

He could dish it out
But he couldn't take it
Cause' it took so long to make it
And he'll never find that recipe again
Oh no!

He was forced out of the ring
When an opponent wound up dead
And it was discovered that
His gloves were lined with lead
After that he was never allowed
To partake in fisticuffs
Other then when mixing it up
With some bar room toughs
He found employment in
The same building as me
His biggest concern in life
Is that we don't run out of coffee
He wages battle every day
With a broom and a mop
I guess you're really hit hard
When you fall from the top
As I see him in the hall
Now I always run away
Cause he tells me his life story
Every single goddamned day

He could dish it out
But he couldn't take it
Cause' it took so long to make it
And he'll never find that recipe again
Oh no!!


Lyrics submitted by joelm

The Noble Art Of Self-Defense song meanings
Add your thoughts

No Comments

sort form View by:
  • No Comments

Add your thoughts

Log in now to tell us what you think this song means.

Don’t have an account? Create an account with SongMeanings to post comments, submit lyrics, and more. It’s super easy, we promise!

Back to top
explain