Saint Tuesday, The Little Grey Mouse. yeah me Christopher

This is a little alteration of a Green Day song married with a very old Irish rhyme…my somewhat unoriginal spin on other peoples crafted angst tailored for use in some music I and some local untalented musician (They are not"real musicians" but they do have instruments) friends of mine are trying to weave into a passable number for public review sometime in the near future. If we pull it off they told me they might even let me sing they damn thing (EEEEKKK) or if my courage fails me (A likely scenario) play the bongos (Poorly) instead.
****RANT WARNING****
A pointless endeavor true… but a far more useful application of ones free time than oh say…trying to devise baiting schemes via technology beyond ones grasp when your middle aged, over ripe melon of a tookus should be acting like an adult rather than a shallow spoiled teenage girl… I'm not saying, I'm just saying.

Saint Tuesday's coming down across the alleyway
Up on the boulevard like a drunk braggart on parade
Light of a silhouette
He's insubordinate
Coming at you ,up to your door

My name is Saint Tuesday and I'm bastard lout
I'm the Suicide commando that your mother talked about
King of the forty thieves
And I'm here to represent
That needle in the vein of the establishment

I'm the patron saint of the denial
With an angel face and a taste for suicidal

Cigarettes , Ramen-noodles and a little bag of black hope
I am a son of a bitch and Edgar Allen Poe
Raised in the city under a halo of lights
The product of war and fear that under which we've been victimized

I'm the patron saint of the denial
With an angel face and a taste for suicidal
I'm a niggar, a whore and gypsy king
A rich man in a poor mans clothes all this without wearing anybody's ring

What did you say?

ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?

I didn't think so.

SAINT TUESDAY! THE LITTLE GREY MOUSE!
Running through the forgotten corners of your ill kept house
Dancing in the fog by the western shore
In the walls and under the floor
The cat yowls drunk on the ladies wine
And the dogs been fed to Daddies golden cow so for now everything's almost fine


My name is Saint Tuesday I'm a son of nobody and the heir to a loaded gun
I'm the one that's from way down south
Exiled by appointment with nimble hands and a loud mouth
I'm a self-made assassin executing some fun
In the cult of secret fire and the club of the dispossessed.

I really hate to say it but I told you so
So shut your mouth before I shoot you down old boy
Welcome to the club and give me some blood
And the resident leader at the lost and found

It's comedy and tragedy
It's SAINT TUESDAY