I must be wicked, for i get no rest. I was up with a coughing fit at 5 a.m.
At which time I wrote this ditty to be sung loud and offkey:
Don't be beating your fine self up over your spanky new jeans!
When your man Cliff sees your behind in those things
He surely will be pleased.
How do you put up with me!
My constant ramble rambling
I think it's the insanity
When are we going dancing?
I want to party
and howlllll at the mooon
You can wear your new jeans
But your butt it might be squeezed
By a strange boy.
I'll be there to the end
When your new jeans have long turned into cutoffs
I'll be there with some straight pours of smirnoffs
(Scratch that, make it Stoli's) <--- this last line is just read straight, no singing.