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

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