| This is the day of the expanding man, | 
| That shape is my shade, there where I used to stand, | 
| It seems like only yesterday, I gazed through the glass | 
| At Ramblers, wild gamblers, that’s all in the past | 
| You call me a fool, you say its a crazy scheme | 
| This one’s for real, I already bought the dream | 
| So useless to ask me why, throw a kiss and say goodbye | 
| I’ll make it this time, I’m ready to cross that fine line | 
| I’ll learn to work the saxophone | 
| I’ll play just what I feel, | 
| Drink scotch whisky, all night long, | 
| And die behind the wheel, | 
| They got a name for the winners in the world, | 
| I want a name when I lose | 
| They call Alabama the crimson Tide | 
| Call me Deacon Blues, | 
| Deacon Blues | 
| My back to the wall, a victim of laughing chance | 
| This is for me, the essence of true romance, | 
| Sharing the things we know and love | 
| With those of my kind, | 
| Libations, sensations, that stagger the mind | 
| I crawl like a viper, through the suburban streets | 
| Make love to these women, languid and bitter sweet, | 
| I rise when the sun goes down, | 
| Cover every game in town, a world of my own, | 
| I’ll make it my home sweet home, | 
| This is the night of the expanding the man, | 
| I take one last drag, as I approach the stand, | 
| I cried when I wrote this song, | 
| Sue me if I play too long, | 
| This brother is free | 
| I’ll be what I want to be |