Bottom Drawer

Stop wearing my shirts
Stop wearing my socks
I’m not your mother
I can’t be bothered
You say you don’t think I’m funny anymore
So you put my face in the bottom drawer
You keep your eyes for the boy next door
I don’t call that funny anymore
Just catch a mirror
Find out who’s lonesome
My suit is fine, I’m not a D. J
You say you found it
I say you lost it
I say you know why I can’t find it
I know what you’ve been saying
Yes I know where the kitchen sink is
You’re making eyes at the boy next door
I don’t call that funny anymore
Woman me and I hold my eyes
And I keep it sane but I don’t know why
Keep going time
Keep going questions
My eyes have seen my own mess
I know why the bedrooms stinking
My house is full of strangers
I’m not making for the boy next door
So keep your pants in the bottom drawer
It’s coming to you
It’s coming to you
It’s coming to you
It’s riding to you
Here it comes on two brown legs