(Alexander/Badlees)
|
|
Well, I take off my shoes
|
When I walk in her door
|
And try my best to levitate
|
'Cross her living room floor
|
'Cause you can't leave tracks
|
When you're on hollowed ground
|
She'll just make you sweep 'em up
|
Like you're being hunted down
|
|
(Chorus)
|
She's the queen of perfection
|
everybody knows why
|
She's the queen of perfection
|
And she's soon gonna die
|
|
She says, "your body is a temple, boy
|
You ought to treat it well
|
But you trash the place and rent it out
|
Like it's some cheap motel"
|
Then she takes away my plate
|
before I've finished by meal
|
And works on my hygiene
|
Against my will
|
|
(Chorus)
|
|
Well, Marie Antoinette, she said,
|
"Let 'em eat cake"
|
While she should have been planning
|
Her own damn escape
|
Now I smile 'cross the table
|
At my lady supreme
|
Knowin' that her cup is laced
|
With Mr. Clean
|
|
(Chorus 2x)
|
|
-----------------
|
Queen Of Perfection
|
| The Badlees |
