This old machine
It makes me sick
Was that just me
Did you hear that nervous tick?
My hands stained black
By the Devil's work
This old machine
It makes me hurt
This old machine
It makes me sick
Was that just me? Did you hear that nervous tick?
Beneath my skin
This cancer grows
This old machine
Make me grow old
Would've made it better
In a Lincoln or a FOrd
You could drive that thing right through
Like a gleaming broadsword
Gotta get home tonight in this old machine
This old machine
It amakes me sick
Was that just me?
Did you hear this nervous tick?
My hands stained black
By the Devil's work
This old machine
It makes me hurt
Should've gone with a classic
Should've bought a Cadillac
You could wield that shining chrome
Like a big old battle axe
Gotta get home tonight in this old machine
This old machine I hold so dear
Toys with me, confirms my fears
Bursts my knuckles in the cold
I should have sold it long ago
But still I toil my life away
It seems to always end up this way
If everything doesn't turn out right
I'll be walking home tonight
Then I hear hers tart to shutter
And I feel feel her start to shake
Oh Lord, I hope she makes it home tonight
And I hear her try to say something
And then I can't hear anything
When she dies, yeah, she dies, yes she does
This old machine
It makes me sick
Was that just me?
Did you hear that nervous tick?
My hands stained black
By the Devil's work
This old machine
It makes me hurt

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