Work

Andy was a Catholic
The ethic ran through his bones
He lived alone with his mother
Collecting gossip and toys

Every Sunday when he went to Church
He'd kneel in his pew and he'd say
It's work all that matters is work

He was a lot of things
What I remember the most he'd say
I've got to bring home the bacon
Someone's got to bring home the roast

He'd get to the factory early
If you'd ask him
He'd have told you straight out
It's work

No matter what I did it never seemed enough
He said I was lazy, I said I was young
He said, "How many songs did you write"
I'd written zero, I'd lied and said, "Ten"

You won't be young forever
You should have written fifteen
It's work

You ought to make things big
People like it that way
And the songs with the dirty words
Make sure your record them that way

Andy liked to stir up trouble
He was funny that way
He said, "It's just work"

Andy sat down to talk one day
He said, "Decide what you want
Do you want to expand your parameters
Or play museums like some dilettante"

I fired him on the spot, he got red and he called me a rat
It was the worst word that he could think of
And I've never seen him like that, it's work
I thought he said it's just work

Andy said a lot of things
I stored them all away in my head
Sometimes when I can't decide what I should do
I think what would Andy have said

He'd probably say, "You think too much
That's 'cause there's work that you don't want to do"
It's work, the most important thing is work
It's work, the most important thing is work