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The butcher and the baker and the undertaker.
The butler and the barber too.
The boy without a liver and the indian giver.
They've all got the main street blues.
The lovers and the lawyers and the
self-employers were in the foyer sniffing glue.
Discussing with a Russian who was munching on a muffin.
All about the main street blues.
And it's oh lordy me, and oh lordy my.
This little town keeps bustlin' on by.
The tailor and the teller and the snowball seller.
The preacher in his prison shoes.
They're all trying to figure how to
get rid of those awful main street blues.
Joan got along and moved to Catahoula.
Got a house out on Johnson's bayou.
She swears she'll have it made if she can
manage to evade those melancholy main street blues.
The mediocre actor left his paw paw's tractor.
Ride a bike down sunset avenue.
The hacker and the slacker and the lazy
linebacker they've all got the main street blues
And it's oh lordy me, and oh lordy my.
This little town keeps bustlin' on by.
The promoter's got an odor like a day old floater.
And a pencil with a pad of blue.
He's scribbling out ways to emancipate
the days from those awful main street blues.