I remember you

An artist in first grade

Mine was voted best but

I knew we should trade

Then I was a punk

Hitching to the city

He stopped in your Camaro

Girlfriend looking pretty

And now my little girl asked

Why you're in the gutter

Tell her who you were and

You begin to mutter

I may be drunk

But I can be trusted

Just a little bit rusted

A little bit rusted

Are you mad at me?

I say far from that

How you spent first grade

In a stocking cap

I was good boy then

My folks split up

Not to blame them, though, for

Turning out drunk

Well, you play shows

Don't drink doubles

Get'cha in trouble

Get'cha in trouble

There's some bad in me that

Comes from alcohol

Makes me smell like shit

Stumble down and fall

The road to Hell

Is strewn with friends

That killed themselves

To make amends

I may be drunk

But I can be trusted

Just a little bit rusted

A little bit rusted

A little bit rusted

A little bit rusted