The Hitman Blues Band - Better Cla** of Bums lyrics

I won't be down at Lonnie's Won't walk through Harry's door All the dives and sleazy bars Won't see me no more I'm with a better cla** of bums I drink a fancy kind of booze I'm smoking big cigars And drive expensive cars But I still can't get to you The girls way down on Main Street Will have to do without They'll have to find some other guy 'Cause they won't see me about I'm with a better cla** of bums Sammy at the newstand The tears run from his eyes He's got piles of trashy magazines 'Cause I only buy the Times I'm with a better cla** of bums I met up with your mama I swept her off her feet Your papa likes to call me Son And your sister says I'm sweet I'm with a better cla** of bums How can I impress you What else can I do? I've shaved and bathed and dressed so fine With patent leather shoes I'm with a better cla** of bums