Out of Shape

Do you often feel defeated
Do you always try to get along
Are you straining to keep it together
Have you found a good excuse for all your faults
Are you sick to death of wading through the crap
Its a stream that's gonna grind you to a grain
Are you hollow cheeked on egg shells all week
Just another poor sap circling the drain

Cause it's too late for a wretch to have his day
This is the 21st century old mate
And you can't win while the wheels are greased and spin
This is the 21st century we're in

Are you begging for forgiveness
Have you had enough of hanging your head
Are you minding your own business
Do you feel like you're already dead
Are you sick to death of giving up the turf of bending yourself all out of shape
Do you admit defeat got nothin more to speak
Just knock it on the head and go away

Cause it's too late for a wretch to have his day
This is the 21st century old mate
And you can't win while the wheels are greased and spin
This is the 21st century we're in

One day we'll piece it all together again



Credits
Writer(s): Paul Luttrell
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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