She's always ready for the worst of news,
|
And she's hopin' it may be you.
|
She knows all the scuttlebutt about the whatnot
|
That she doesn't want forgot.
|
|
Rumor is a wind that blows so smart,
|
It doesn't even know who you are.
|
She's standing there waiting at the top of the stairs
|
With her eyes fixed on you like glue.
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"Where are you going now? where you been'?
|
What is your latest sin?"
|
|
She's into the big time.
|
She reads the national enquirer.
|
She stretches the truth with such imagination
|
She's more of a writer than a liar.
|
|
She's always ready for the worst of news,
|
And she's hopin' it may be you.
|
She knows all the scuttlebutt about the whatnot
|
That she doesn't want for a guy.
|
|
Rumor is a wind that blows so smart,
|
It doesn't even know who you are.
|
|
-----------------
|
Scuttle Butt
|
| Daniel Johnston |
