My muse was waiting when I come home from work
She was wearing just a trace of a smirk
I followed her out. She closed the door
She said — I won’t be needing you any more
She said — You ain’t nothing but my middleman
I been propping you up since the day you began
But I always get the short end of the stick
Not one bit of credit. Sorry, Slick
But you got no idea what you been missing
Hell, half the time you don’t even listen
I’m tired of worrying about what to do
When my perfect ideas get filtered through you
She said — You’re just a slave to the avant garde
And I never get paid though I work real hard
Then she threw all my stuff out in the yard
Then my muse went to Vegas with my credit card
I know I took her for granted but not any more
Not since the day she evened the score
I’m gonna write my way right out of this box
Soon as I figure out these new front door locks
She said
