A mans house is his castle,
Or so Ive heard tell.
Well if that is the case,
My castle is a cell.
So alone in my castle,
As I sit on my throne.
And I gaze all around me,
At all the treasures I own.
A broom and a trash can,
To keep my place clean.
A walkman tape player,
That really sounds mean.
A pair of old shades,
To cover my eyes.
A couple of shirts,
And some worn out Levis.
A handful of letters,
From a girl I once knew.
A toothbrush, a razor,
Some soap, and shampoo.
Some paper and envelopes,
And a cheap papermate.
Oh yeah, and my sneaks,
That I stole from the state.
Theres a dozen pictures,
Propped up on my shelf.
But since no one visits,
Theyre all of myself.
A couple of bandanas,
And a watch to tell time.
It blows me away,
To know that all this is mine.
That throne that I mentioned,
Is pure stainless steel.
And at 2 in the morn,
Thats a hell of a chill.
Theres a lil bit of coffee,
And a few packs of smokes.
If this is my castle,
Then its a pretty sad joke.
A mans home is his castle,
Or so Ive heard tell.
I'll trade you mine,
For a simple hotel.

 
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