lyrics
She was stark-raving, cradled her cocktail in her palm.
She was stuck on that man so fat the moon of his beergut and glasses.
She said he had a sea-foam shelf, set next to his bed in his bedroom.
And on top of that shelf, she balanced a handle of daisies.
He was so mad.
He was so mad.
And why did she still stick with it?
It never seemed to serve her well.
He would fool around on her.
He was no fine specimen.
credits
license
all rights reserved