It's knowing that my mouth is always open
But I shouldn't really talk
That makes me want to grab a nickel bag, roll up
And crash behind my couch

And it's knowing I am heckled for forgotten words and lines
While I'm wishing I could stop and do some lines
Or boozing in the back room when the Secret Service lets me
That tells you there is nothing on my mind

I'm not thinking of the words and comments written in some columns
How they mock me
Or thinking of the things I've said
Because I never think before I'm talking

I'm not caring that the world will soon be cursing me for living
When they start to say I'm just a hack they'll find
That I'm boozing in the back room when the Secret Service lets me
And for hours there's just nothing on my mind

Oh the back deals and the protests
And the judges and the recounts didn't beat us
And now Gore is finished crying to the public
But I'm glad to see he's gone

The critics I've all silenced, though the win was a disgrace
But I'm George's son and now I can unwind
And now I guess I'm gonna be there boozing in the backroom
'Cause there's really nothing ever on my mind

I tip my cowboy hat back 'cause I'm struggling
With the questions though I try hard
My thoughts begin to jumble and a stupid grin appears across my face
I'll shake hands from the grandstand and pretend to show some interest but I find
That I'm boozing in the back room when the Secret Service lets me
And for hours there's just nothing on my mind