Foot in the Door — Bobby Weidman

A little voice inside my head

Keeps tellin me I’m a whore

I try to shut it up, I try but it ain’t enough

I just can’t seem to get a foot in the door

That door keeps on hittin me on the ass

People keep givin me advice when I don’t ask

There’s light at the end of the road, at least that’s what I’m told

But I’ll probably just go back to work like my dad

I just can’t seem to get a foot in the door

It all goes down the drain like yesterday’s coffee that I pour

I just can’t seem to get a foot in the door

They say “son you gotta play the standards, do you know wonder wheel or wagon wall?”

Don’t get paid in this town if you can’t pander

Oh but the truth is that I’d rather put a bullet in my skull

So I think I’ll just take my chances

I could find a little lady to nag me all day long

And if she seems like marrying material

You could consider it done, you could count me in, son

And down my days until my burial

I just can’t seem to get a foot in the door

I try and I try, and then I try some more

But I just can’t seem to get a foot in the door

No I just can’t seem to get a foot in the door