No offense but mama don’t make me put on the dress again. I can’t stand the way it opens when I spin, ribbon bows around my shoulder, and I’m only getting older. Mama don’t make me put on the dress again. Daddy don’t make me fancy dance around, painted up in that make-up like a clown. If I see another stocking, lord - swear to God, I’m walking, lord. Daddy don’t make me fancy dance around. Well, I’m coming home alone for the hundredth time or so, it gets harder on my hard earned money’s dime - To the bottle in my basket, will it answer if I ask it: Doing right or am I doing time?
My goddess *bows down* it my birthday again! That is all