It's Tuesday and I already hit the bottle I can't even fall in love at happy hour I think I'll go home now and dream about the nightmares that could be like all my friends turning into my enemies You're good at pushing me out Late that night I am awakened by the banshee's cry and I am much too scared to get a drink I see the rusty swing set blow from generations long ago under moonlight the plow is stained by the power of your name You're good at pushing me out The farmer's daughter raises hell when I try to kiss her screaming "daddies" now I run here's to sickle swinging fun You're good at pushing me out