Don't You, Mr. Jones?

Can you assume I wanna? 

I’ll always volunteer
for a can a' manna.

Yup, Copenhagen
snuff! Started on the straight-cut, but when I got my jaw wired
shut, the long-cut stayed under my lip better. It’s manna

to the gods is what it is, my brother!
You thought I’d chuck the habit, but no fear—
I ain’t gonna quit my dip ‘cause I don’t wanna—

‘cause whoever thinks they’ll throw this monkey's a goner
when the evening shadows and the stars appear
sleepy-eye manna—

the loving friend you lost and can’t remember,
the beautiful form that hides behind your mirror.
You wanna

believe we’re designed to fall for just such glamor—
hiccupping us back from second to first gear.
Damn right, I wanna
nice can a' manna!