Phillip Pharr

There was a man named Phillip Pharr who knew he'd never win
Running from the law, he had lived a life of sin
He had tried the boxing ring, but it gave him the cramps
And all he ever liked to do was just collecting stamps

Phillip Pharr, Phillip Pharr, where did you go wrong?
You're a fatalist fugitive pugilist philatelist
And this is your song

He had an innocent look about him, but nasty things he'd mutter
And the noises he made while asleep would make the whole house shudder
He worked at the cucumber processing plant, six days 9-to-5
But to try and make ends meet he'd bartend on the side

Phillip Pharr, Phillip Pharr, where did you go wrong?
You're a wide-eyed snide-snorin' pickle-packin' liquor-pourin'
Fatalist fugitive pugilist philatelist
And this is your song

Everybody knew he could write with either hand
But he was really skinny, ‘cause food he couldn't stand
He would get out of bed at night and walk ‘round in his sleep
And give away his money to the people in the street

Phillip Pharr, Phillip Pharr, where did you go wrong?
You're an ambidextrous anorexic somnambulist philanthropist
Wide-eyed snide-snorin' pickle-packin' liquor-pourin'
Fatalist fugitive pugilist philatelist
And this is your song!

Album: Picky, Picky, Picky

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