Of a grown-ass man with a little bag of beans
He picked up in Vegas back in Sep
The call was made and he lost the bet
Now lying in the comfy mud
Got those repeating beans in his blood
He wipes all the mucky brown around
Makes his big brown bed without a sound
Beans beans beans
A little bag of genes
Full of different things
Good, bad and ugly and alluring
Genes genes genes
A little bag of beans
Full of distant dreamings
Could be your day or your undoing
Somehow good, a boiling pot
Even as he burns he says he's not
But warm brown mud and beans
Are a good recipe for growing dreams
And he still remembers how
He hoped for a brighter, cleaner now
And with more days of sun
There's a thick vine for climbing up upon
Beans beans beans
A little bag of genes
Full of different nothings
Good, bad and ugly and assuring
Genes genes genes
A little bag of beans
Full of distant dreamings
Some quickly dead but some improving
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