yeah, i remember yesterday
when the music could get to me
and make the grown men cry,
like the man in the corner
smoking his menthol 100's
full-flavor...
      he used to tell me he loved them,
      he'd smoke them and chew on
      the big orange filter when he was done,
      he wanted to get every bit out,
      they were like life he said,
      sometimes they were sweet
      and sometimes bitter,
      sometimes you couldn't get enough,
      sometimes, too much would make you sick,
      sometimes you couldn't find one that agreed
      with you
      sometimes, one was all you needed...
      and when you did need one,
      you were twelve cents shorts,
      and when you didn't
      three packs lined your pockets,
so i looked him straight in the eye
and asked if i could bum one
being moved by his analogy...
he looked me back,
straight in the eye and said,
      no, go find your own,
      i barely have enough to make me
      through the night.