I went out to dinner with my parents last night A Mexican restaurant of their choice I caught their looks when I came down Their disapproving stares at my baggy jeans, my black beanie and my chain wallet No one can accept me, not even the woman who brought me to life The restaurant was packed on a Saturday night so I got all their stares, too I went outside right away for a cigarette And then, ever the gentleman, I hid my Marlboro's under my napkin so my parents wouldn't have to stare at cancer all night Dinner was uneventful, but the music was good I didn't speak to them, but tipped the guitar player $10 $10 that I will need for more cigarettes because in all my kindess, I forgot mine under my napkin.