You were born on t.v.
Raised at the Alamo
You don't want to go to jail,
But every payday comes so slow
You wife's in her prime
Your girlfriend's got a ways to go
You've got the little white pills
The little white lies
And a whole 'nother night of those
Green and white signs that say
You've got the right destination
You've got the wrong highway
One night your baby leaves you crying
And the tears don't stop
Then she comes back in the morning
She gives you kisses for every teardrop
You're like some teen-age Jesus
Working at the cross shop
You've got your little white pills
Your little white lies
You get your tires on sale
You've got your life on lay-away
You've got the right destination
You've got the wrong highway
They taught you all about the jungle
And they taught you how to lead your kill
Now just the touch of your baby
Makes the rest of this world unreal
And you've got no more words
For the way you feel
So you take your little white pills
Your little white lies
'Til you hit the skipped beat
Deep in the heart of the U.S.A.
You've got the right destination
You've got the wrong highway
