All The Money You Made Will Never

May You Stay Forever Young

Every Writer At The New Yorker Is Smarter Than Me.

Good Intentions Can Be Evil, Both Hands Are Full Of Grease. You Know, Sometimes Satan Comes As A Man Of Peace.

God Bless Them Pretty Women, I Wish They Was Mine, Their Breath Is As Sweet, The Dew On The Vine.

I Can Picture The Color Of The Song, Or The Shape Of It, Or Who It Is That I'm Trying To Appeal To, In The Song, And What I'm Trying To, Almost, Reinforce My Feelings For. And I Know That Sounds Sort Of Vague And Abstract, But I've Got A Handle On It When I'm Doing It.