I sell cigarettes and work full-time nights
I make the minimum; is that enough to cover rent?
Life is but a race, and looks as though I'm stuck in place
standing every night at work behind the register
If you asked when I was five, I was gonna be an astronaut
If you asked when I was nine, I would have settled for the mountaintop
At sixteen, eighteen, a lawyer or some professional
I see 'em everyday but I'm still just a wannabe
They walk through the door upon their way to work each day
Coffee's in the can - the American Dream is in the bag
But mine's got a hole and it slips into their pocket purse
They got what it takes and they know to look down on me
I started washing floors, moved on up to the door
Born on the outside, I'm always looking in
at the life I always wanted and know I'll never have
If I ever have a daughter...
If I ever have a son...
I'll show them their best bet
is to get out before you drown
To never have these masters
Mine only drag me down
Cause I sell 'em cigarettes where I work the graveyard shift
From eleven every night, seven thirty every morning
I sell cigarettes to everyone I never was, and know I'll never be
