He came by today, dirty old Jake,
Sat and talked, he was filled with hate,
Of times in the past and days long gone,
And he talked about people, the same old song.

He would ask me a question
And draw me out
Twist it around
And put me down.

He opened the door
And walked into the store,
And pointed his finger in my face.
What would I do? I worked in the place.

No more talking to you old Jake.
You are filled with too much hate.
I have no room for that sort of thing.
To build up and not tear down,
That to me is the action more sound.

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