V Well, the calendar flips, February rolls around I'm locked in my studio, while no one's around Fourteen songs to write, but my brain’s on the fritz Every line feels like, this tune might be it

CH Got the low down dirty FAWM blues Locked away, I hang with my muse My baby’s callin’, but I ain't coming through I got the low down, dirty FAWM blues

V I feel day five come and coffee's runnin' dry I’m scribblin’ on napkins, it's makin' me cry Every chord feels wrong, every rhyme is a mess Drowning in the pressure, nothing but FAWM stress

CH Got the low down dirty FAWM blues Locked away, I hang with my muse My baby’s callin’, but I ain't coming through I got the low down, dirty FAWM blues

BR The clock keeps on tickin', the days start to blur I’m strummin’ my guitar while thinkin' of her She leaves food at the door, like I’m some kinda ghost I ain’t seen my baby since that Super Bowl post!

V By the twenty-seventh day I’m hangin' by a thread Got a pile of rough drafts and a pain in my head The melodies may be limp and the words barely rhyme But I pray to my muse, just this one last time

CH Still got the low down dirty FAWM blues But her lovin’ pulls me back from that ruse February's over, no more solitude She’s my forever, no more FAWM time blues

OUTRO (spoken) Fourteen songs done Now I need now some lovin' We should take a little rest, now 'Cause Fifty Ninety ain't a-comin'