More often than not
|
What's word's owning is worth fighting for
|
whether it be life, love or the pursuit of happiness
|
mom's apple-pie
|
or even something as basic as sex
|
and don't go knocking it
|
that three-letter-word makes a mockery
|
of the four-letter-onces that tries to cheapen it
|
It's a wonderful game for people of all ages
|
and even for losers it's worth a try
|
That's good morning and good bye
|
|
[Buck 65]
|
They sit in your section
|
they think you gentle and nice
|
you bring glasses of water
|
with lentils and rice
|
Old-fashioned outfits
|
it also appears
|
their tips are greater
|
when you don't wear brassieres
|
They give you their orders
|
and watch when you write them
|
wishing that you
|
could be their menu item
|
They wanna be breast-fed
|
the day you get work off
|
with you in their thoughts
|
they walk home and then jerk off
|
You look like a model
|
so young and intrepid
|
the regular customers
|
are old and decrepit
|
The food is here rotten
|
but the service is stellar
|
I know that I love her
|
and I wish I could tell her
|
But they don't know your name
|
cause you don't really care
|
as long as they tip you
|
and stay in their chair
|
They swallow their tongues
|
in a venom, dirty wipers
|
if you tell them a lie
|
and changes the dirty diapers
|
|
-----------------
|
To Say the Very Least
|
| Buck 65 |
