Album: Taste the Flavor
with a smile like a crease in the shirt of his face
and a coat-hanger drape to his jacket
watch him tense every tendon as you sets the pace
in the race for the next income bracket
now there's room at the top but there's more in the ranks
and he's matching your stride but he's straining
and he's slave to the bite of the spur in his flanks
but you're not gonna hear him complaining
it's second nature to the native son
the office joke he can barely decipher
at the expense of his naked ambition
a bit of a striver/he tries so hard
greedy conniver you can't disregard
every surface a scorecard
every edge is a measuring rod
when you hold it up against him
he'd be up in the office while you're still in bed
but you don't want to give him the pleasure
as he's sizing you up for the grave in his head
with a flick of his mental tape-measure
sliding levers through the sand and grit
marbles drop, he's the only survivor
the last to leave and the first to admit it
a bit of a striver, he tries so hard
sputtering diver in his final yard
every surface a scoreboard
every edge is a measuring rod
pull a plank from the floorboard
every nail brings him closer to God
as you hold it up against, hold it up against him