May This Be The Year That Things

Yeah, Under The Table And Dreaming Shaped The Way That I Think About Writing Songs.

My Fear Is That I Go Up To The Girl Of My Dreams And Say 'i'm Sorry, But I've Got To Say Hello To You,' And She Slides The Stool Back And Gets Up And Walks Away, Saying, 'not For Me, Bub. I Don't Want Anything To Do With You.'

I Feel Strikingly Domestic. We're In Our Own World With Two Busses And Trucks.

I'm The Only Person I Know Who's Got A Bunch Of Money.

Whenever They Say It Can’t Be Done, Remind Them That They Make A Jellybean That Tastes Exactly Like Popcorn.