There’s something ‘bout some people some of the timenand I know them ‘cause they are like menAnd every now and then they’re losing touchnThey are waiting on some train that never comes and getting angryn‘Cause the tunnel’s falling backnAnd the heat hangs on the risenThe swarm is a closing packnAnd the station shrinks in sizenAnd they don’t like it (shouldn’t have to)nbut their life they just can’t undo,nso they’ll touch whatever comes through.nnThere’s something ‘bout some people some of the timenand I know them ‘cause they are like menAnd every now and then they take a hitnAnd question why they’re taking itnBlowing dreams and reaping envynAnd they look for something more, but their tracks are still the samenAnd the questions from before digging tunnels in their brainnAnd they don’t like it (shouldn’t have to)nbut their life they just can’t undo,nso they take whatever comes throughnnThere’s something ‘bout some people some of the timenand I know them ‘cause they are like menAnd every now and then they catch a breaknEvery hit they ever took at stakenAnd for a moment, they could be happyn‘Cause their train is coming innand their touch is back for sure,nbut the pain of when you winnisn’t winning anymorenAnd they don’t like it (shouldn’t have to)nbut their life they just can’t undo,nand their train, they are attached to.