The Room

You never grow out of, what you grow up in

not everything moves out, when somebody new moves in.

Somethings in life you just can’t tell goodbye,

like my up the stairs first door to the right

So, just leave chipper Jones playing 3rd base on the wall

13 years of pencil marks telling me I’m getting tall

And all of them toy soldiers playin’ war in that toy box

and every now and then make sure, you step on a Lego block on the floor…

Just keep all the years of yearbooks collecting dust up in the closet,

keep ‘Back In Black’ skippin’ tracks, in my old Walkman,

Just ignore the Playboy hiding underneath the bed,

and don’t tell mom about the half a pack of Camel cigarettes in the drawer.

    No you can’t have the room

I won’t lock the door behind me when I leave, but when I come back man there better be,

My Pro Bowl madden player on that PlayStation one,

case a copper head BB’s for that Red Ryder BB gun,

an 8x 10 of me and Charlie out on Clinch Lake

and my Rawlings catchers mit just’a waiting on a game so take a tour,

of my my whole life behind that door, but when that ink dries on the dotted line don’t let a memory move, you can have the house, I said you can have the house, but you can’t have the room.

No, you can’t have my room