Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!
Dig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, back in that hole
Larry made his nest up in the autumn branchesBuilt from nothing but high hopes and thin airCollected up some baby blasted mothersThey took their chances and for a whileThey lived quite happily up there
He came from New York City, manBut he couldn’t take the paceHe thought it was like a dog eat dog worldBut he went to San FranciscoSpent a year in outer spaceWith a sweet little San Franciscan girl
I can hear my mother wailingAnd a whole lot of scraping of chairs
I don’t know what it is, but there’s definitely something going on upstairsDig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, back in that hole(I want you to digI want you to dig)
Yeah, New York City, he had to get out of thereAnd San Francisco, well, I don’t knowAnd then to LA, where he spent about a dayHe thought even the pale sky-stars were smart enough to keep well away from LA
Meanwhile Larry made up names for the ladiesLike Ms Boo and Ms QuickHe stockpiled weapons and took pot shots in the airHe feasted on their lovely bodies like a lunaticAnd wrapped himself up in their soft yellow hair
I can hear chants and incantationsAnd some guy is mentioning me in his prayers
I don’t know what it is, but there’s definitely something going on upstairsDig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, back in that hole(I want you to digI want you to digI want you to dig)
Well New York City man,San Francisco, LA, I don’t knowBut Larry grew increasing neurotic and obsceneI mean: he, he never asked to be raised up from the tombI mean no one ever actually asked him to forsake his dreams
Anyway, to cut a long story shortFame finally found himMirrors became his torturersCameras snapped him at every chanceThe women all went back to their homesAnd their husbandsSecret smiles in the corners of their mouths
He ended up, like so many of them do, back in the streets of New York CityIn a soup queueA dope fiendA slaveThen prisonThen the mad houseThen the graveOh poor Larry
But what do we really know of the deadAnd who actually cares?
Well I don’t know what it is, but there’s definitely something going on upstairsDig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, LazarusDig yourself, back in that hole(I want you to digI want you to digI want you to dig)