Song in My Hand

A song in my hand Is worth ten in my head So I spit up my words And croak like a bird I thought I felt rain But my hair was dry Oh my thoughts are the rain And it's pouring inside Words keep leaking out my faucet head I catch them on paper which drips soaking wet With scribbled lines and drizzled thoughts oh oh You reap what you write So I write what I see My seeds are my verses I plant them in cursive Teach a man a song And he'll sing it for a day But teach a man to write one And he'll curse you all night Oh some cough blood in their coffin bed I think I'll throw up my songs instead 'Til I rise up above it all