Million Dead Follow

Stop trying to pretend that you are going to stop
You're either a smoker or you're not
You will keep on smoking for the rest of your life
And then you'll get cancer and then you'll die

I can stop whenever I please and anyway
I'm immune to emphysema and heart disease
My diary says tomorrow is the day I quit and
I'm going to stick with that

I'll work my way down to the end of this pack
And then I'm leaving this place
And I'm never coming back again
Little itches need no stitches

But they bury you if you keep in scratching
You'll go right through, whiskey for the amputee
Is just the thing to ease the sting
I've got a list of things to get round to
I've got a list of all the things I shouldn't do

I know it by heart, I've got the damn thing in my pocket
But despite myself, it's the middle of the night
And I am round your house again
Trying to pretend that I am going to stop

I'm either a smoker or I'm not
You will keep on smoking for the rest of my life
And don't I know it, my favorite fatal weakness

I'll work my way down to the end of this pack
And then I'll leave this place
And I'm never coming back

I'll see you around, somewhere in town
Next time I'm down, probably right here