Springfield, or Bobby Got a Shadfly Caught in His Hair

I don't care to say what

I failed to recognize

Every single day from the poker to the prize

Running out of Springfield

I worked for the Capitol Air, in the bags

Found a woman there who said

she had a mind to make

me a messenger man

If my father took his life

for the national plan, I don't care

I'm not about to stick my grave with an

apron and a bucket of plans, never ever

I can take the pillow cases

off the yellow pillows,

make a property line from the bed

In the living room, the living room,

the morning papers made the most

out of nothing at all

So we took the room

with a view of the runaway

I took off my clothes,

and she took it for a holiday

I was taken for all the things

that I never had before

Running out of Springfield

she left me with a note saying: