Manners

Sit up straight, good Sit up straight, good Sit up straight, good Sit up straight, good Sittin' at the table playing with my stack of peas Waitin' for the plastic forks to melt beneath the cupboard Little brother, pass the butter Don't play with your meat You're a little glutton made of mutton Playin' with your seeds We paint a perfect picture for the whole wild world to see A little Tropicana with a perfect summer breeze Oh, rigmarole, my darling, she's a piece of poetry I want her to be mine, forever she will be Let 'em roll, let 'em bleed Let 'em run to the sea Let 'em burn into the fire Let it feed the world's desire Sit up straight, good Sit up straight, good Sit up straight, good Sit up straight, good I want you to relieve me of the things I cannot be You want a little dog to commit your entropy Oh, rigmarole, my darling, she's a piece of poetry I want her to be my sculpture, forever mine to be Let 'em roll, let 'em bleed Let 'em run to the sea Let 'em burn into the fire Let it feed the world's desire Sit up straight, good Sit up straight, good Sit up straight, good Sit up straight, good