U R

You’re a clown, you’re a dandy, you’re a fop…(U R)

You’re a death’s head upon a mop…(U R)

You’re not here, you don’t get to say it…(but U R)

Yesterday I took the bus out to Berriedale,

Turns out I was never there…(but U R)

You’re a scapegrace who’s out of luck…(U R)

You’re a mooncalf baby, you suck…(U R)

You’re not here you don’t get to say it…(but U R)

Often I wonder, when things have me under,

What strange motivations to ends.

Ends that conspire to make me a stranger,

and make enemies of my friends…(U R)

You’re a pong, you’re a poor cologne…(U R)

You’re just sittin’ there all alone…(U R)

Why don’t you give me a call?

Why don’t I give you a call?

Now I am tired and sad and quite wasted

and sat in the dark on my own…(U R)

Most of the time seems like all of the good years

are gone, and I’ve blown them all…

But that’s just silly…(U R)