It's Tuesday and I already hit the bottle 

I can't even fall in love at happy hour 

I think I'll go home now and dream about 

the nightmares that could be 

like all my friends turning into my enemies 

You're good at pushing me out 


Late that night I am awakened by the banshee's cry 

and I am much too scared to get a drink 

I see the rusty swing set blow 

from generations long ago 

under moonlight the plow is stained 

by the power of your name 

You're good at pushing me out 


The farmer's daughter raises hell 

when I try to kiss her 

screaming “daddies” now I run 

here's to sickle swinging fun 

You're good at pushing me out