Stop wearing my shirts.
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Stop wearing my socks.
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I'm not your mother.
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I can't be bothered.
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You say you don't think I'm funny anymore
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So you put my face in the bottom drawer.
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You keep your eyes for the boy next door.
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I don't call that funny anymore
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Just catch a mirror
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Find out who's lonesome.
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My suit is fine, I'm not a D.J.
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You say you found it.
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I say you lost it.
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I say you know why I can't find it.
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I know what you've been saying.
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Yes I know where the kitchen sink is.
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You're making eyes at the boy next door.
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I don't call that funny anymore.
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Woman me and I hold my eyes
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And I keep it sane but I don't know why.
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Keep going time.
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keep going questions.
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My eyes have seen my own mess.
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I know why the beedrooms stinking.
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My house is full of strangers.
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I'm not making for the boy next door.
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So keep your pants in the bottom drawer.
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It's coming to you.
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It's coming to you.
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It's coming to you.
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It's riding to you.
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Here it comes on two brown legs.
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Bottom Drawer
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| The Wolfgang Press |
