Tongue in cheek till a hole burns out her mouth,
|
And fingers crossed like the promise of cub scouts,
|
And we know that the picture in her heart shaped locket,
|
Is far from an inanimate object.
|
She's as dark as the blood pulsing under her skin,
|
Still afraid of the boogey man under her bed,
|
And we know that the ashes in the urn was a person,
|
And we never should have burned him.
|
|
Shake it, shake it like you bouts to get paid,
|
Boom slaggaboom, like you gots a peg leg.
|
|
I'm game, you're game; you're the main attraction,
|
And the way you fit your jeans it makes me ready for action.
|
Break it down to a fraction,
|
I'm doing decimal subtraction to find a reaction.
|
|
This is for the C-O 3-O-3, my people,
|
We've got the music that you can't stand still to,
|
And even if you don't dance,
|
I've gotta get you out and take this chance,
|
|
I caught her cornering the pictures in her purse,
|
A white reflection of the window of his hearse,
|
And she knows not to be another wife in waiting,
|
So she's just a widow that I'm dating.
|
Rolled up sleeves with a carton in it's fold,
|
A rusted chain with a cross that once was gold,
|
And I look from a distance as the coffin closes,
|
And disappears below the roses.
|
|
Shake it, shake it like you bouts to get paid,
|
Boom slaggaboom, like you gots a peg leg.
|
|
This is for the C-O 3-0-3, my people,
|
We've got the music that you can't stand still to,
|
And even if you don't dance,
|
I've gotta get you out and take this chance.
|
|
-----------------
|
Don't Dance
|
| 3oh!3 |
