Death By Misadventure

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 flyers And walked next door to the laundromat and blew his brains out in the drier 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 rather lightly She could have cried and cried but then her looks might come unsightly She thought about her wardrobe and how much it was outdated And how this trumped up family thing was vastly overrated Her kids both turned against her and they took to drugs and stealing Some junkie killed 'em both for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