FLEA MARKET HOOKERS

Wipe Your Ass to the Music

I look into the mirror, ya I’m lookin’ kinda old,

Gaze into your eyes and you stare back really cold,

You used to say you loved me while you crinkled up your toes,

Now you point to the hamper and tell me to do my own dirty clothes

Well wipe your ass to the music, wipe your ass to the music,

Kiss my ass to the music, wipe your ass to the music

I’m relaxin’ in the bathtub where lost truth really is,

‘til some trite morning DJ proves to be the prick he really is,

I’m reminiscin’ ‘bout the things we once did,

Then you wake me up … bitchin’ ‘bout our kids

Chorus

I ponder the mesquite tree in our front yard,

Then it hits me at the titty bar I’ve maxed out our Visa card,

You philosophize that nothing old is ever new,

Then put on Joan Baez while I’m trying to watch Fox News

Chorus

My clothes look like a third rate Mormon, all scuffed and out of date,

At work the brownnosers are drinking coffee with the weights

Chorus