Shit Shots Count

[Written by Mike Cooley] Put your cigarette out, get your hat back on Don't mix up which is which They don't pay you enough to work They don't pay me enough to bitch The boss ain't smart as he'd like to be But he ain't nearly as dumb as you think He just wants evolution on a budget With a schedule to keep Suburban four lanes move like blood Through an old man's dying heart Enough at a time to keep hope alive At the speed of a stream of tar He bought in young, and I've no doubt He's gonna cash out with a winning deal Trophy tail wives taking boner pill Rides for the price of a happy meal [Chorus] Shit shot counts if the table's tilted Just pay the man who levels the floor Pride's what you charge a proud man for having Shame is what you sell to a whore Meat's just meat, and it's all born dying Some is tender and some is tough Somebody's gotta mop up the A-1 Somebody's gotta mop up the blood High ground ain't high enough To kill you quick if you fall Idealistically speaking It sounds like you ain't listening at all Friday night rich is all you're ever gonna be Until the fight in you on Monday's gone One more drag, tuck your hair in your hat Don't act so surprised, and try not to look so lost [Chorus]