The Old Lady's oblivious, buried in her shows,
thankful it's not drugs, alcohol or the ponies.
She'd still divorce me flat,
if she ever caught me out on the town
crawling around with cocksuckers.
But, Christ, the feeling's so great.
No worries about birth control.
None of that "not tonight" shit.
Or, "my hair's still wet."
-- Like, who cares?
And when you're done and feeling great
you can go home to your wife and kids,
good house in a nice neighborhood,
with a couple twenties in your pocket,
gas money, not like you're selling it,
after giving some fag a taste
of what usually goes down the drain.
