or
John Hiatt

Well Harry had a good job
Working for the Secret Service
He had a wife and kids at home
Who made him awful nervous
He'd never done a damn thing
You could call experimental
And he had this aching feeling
That his life was accidental

So one day he burned his pinstripe suit
And his leather shoulder-holster
He snapped a Polaroid
And made a giant Wanted poster
He took it to a print shop
And ordered up a thousand fliers
And walked next door to the laundromat
And blew his brains out in the dryer

And the tag on his toe read
Death by misadventure
Ain't that some way to go
Death by misadventure

Well Harry's wife Estella
Took this matter very lightly
She could have cried and cried
But then her looks might come unsightly
She thought about her wardrobe
And how much it was out-dated
And how this trumped-up family thing
Was vastly over-rated

Her kids both turned against her
And they took to drugs and stealing
Some junkie killed 'em both
For two dime-bags they were dealing
And sitting home alone
Disgusted by it all
She blew the sole survivor off
With ninety Nembutals

And the tag on her toe read
Death by misadventure
Ain't that some way to go
Death by misadventure

So be careful how you choose your path
And who you pick to go with
Some folks they take to living fast
While some prefer a slow death
Some folks get confused
And never quite know how they're going
When you're laid out on that slab
We're all the worse for knowing

That the tag on your toe reads
Death by misadventure
What a silly way to go
Death by misadventure

Written by HIATT, JOHN / HADLEY, JOHN R.
Published by Universal Music Publishing Group

Lyrics Provided By LyricFind Inc.