Go Home and Eat Cake

Go home and eat cake

Don’t sit here

Don’t fucking sit here

Talking about

Your problems

I got--fuck Marie

I got so many problems

I can’t even—

I can’t even

Think about—

I gotta list ‘em

I gotta list ‘em all down

Just so I don’t forget

My fucking problems

So don’t—

You know what?

Don’t just drag your cigarette

And sip your beer

And tell me

About your problems, okay?

Everybody’s got a box of Kleenex

And a nose full of something, right?

So why don’t you just go home?

Go home and have your cake

That’s what you should do

You wanna know where I gotta go

After this?

After I’m done

Standing here

Listening to you bitch and moan

About what you gotta do

And where you gotta be

Which is nothing

And nowhere?

I gotta drive all the way up to St. Frank’s

And pick up my kid

From ballet practice

Can’t count on her fuckin’ mother to do it

Because she's got her headaches every other fuckin’ day

Same as when we were married

So sometimes I say to her—

‘Rissa, did you remember to pick up D at school?’

--And I hear this pause on the other end

Like, Oh shit

Like, Oh shit I forgot my kid again

Like my kid
Our kid

Is a box of fuckin’ cereal at the grocery store

That she just forgot to throw in her cart

So there I go racing a hundred miles an hour

Down towards St. Frank’s

Or wherever it is Rissa fuckin’ left her this time

And my car’s not inspected

The registration is expired

And I got two parking tickets I never paid

Went by two different police cars

Because it’s the end of the month

And they gotta get their quota

But what am I supposed to do?

Let my six-year-old kid

Keep standing out in the cold

Because her mother

Can’t be bothered

To remember one fuckin’ thing?

I get there and D’s sitting in some car

Her best friend’s mother

And the mother gives me a look

Like I’m the fuckin’ trash

That forgot to pick up my kid

When really

I’m fuckin’ Superman

Flying around the world

Trying to cover

For my ex-wife

Even though she doesn’t have a job

Or bills

Or any other fuckin’ thing to worry about

But our kid

Because she’s banging some old guy

Who takes care of everything for her

And who’s taking care of me?
Who’s taking care of our kid?

Who’s baking the cake

You know what I mean?

Yeah, have another fuckin’ cigarette

Kill yourself a little bit quicker

Jesus Christ

You’re just like Rissa, you know that?

Not a damn difference

Between any of you women

All you wanna do

Is put your feet up

And let somebody cover your ass

D’s probably going to grow up

To be the same damn way

And what the fuck can I do about it?

I’m only one guy

You women

You’re like—

You’re like the emperors

And everybody else—

All the guys like me

We’re just there

To put your feet up

On some cushion

And feed you your grapes

Isn’t that right?

Jesus

Just finish your drink

And go home, Marie

Go home to wherever home is

And—and—and—

Live your life

Eat your cake

Have a slice for me too

While you’re at it

As long as you’re living the good life

You might as well live some of it

For other people

I'm here stuck standing behind a bar

Wondering if my kid’s somewhere out in the rain

Because today’s the day

I'm not allowed to see her

Put my hand on her one time
One damn time
And I'm the bad guy

That's how it is
I'm the bad guy

Well I’m glad you’re enjoying that cigarette

And I’m glad you like your drink

I’m glad you like hearing my stories

I’m glad for you, Marie

Having fun up there

At the top

I’m glad somebody’s coming out

Ahead