Brady

This is the story of a lovely lady Though her past had been a little shady She had three little golden-haired daughters With the butcher, with the baker With the guy who brought the spring water It wasn't satisfyin' Matrimony was the sacrament that she was eyein' Like so many others before her (In the end) she depends on a man to support her That is an error, but I digress She was the pantsuit type who never wore a mini-dress A white bread mom from Cali The type I wouldn't know being raised here in the alley As I say she was all alone And then there came the ringing of a telephone It was the story of a man called Brady Gun control was his goal till he met the lovely lady With three blond cuties Though he previously went for the big ole booties He had three boys Relics of the days when the babes were his toys But it's no fun being a man alone (Feel like a drone) Suckin' on a bone alone So telephonin' to the white bread lady He said, How'd you like some moanin' groanin' bonin' with a Brady? She said, Hubba bubba rope-a-dope supadef and tone loc We'll move to Cali and get (rich, rich, rich) I'll be your (bitch), you'll never (switch) And you can scratch my inner (itch) So here's to the bunch called Brady Why they are such icons continues to amaze me But then I've never been to Cali Just spend my days philosophizin' here in the alley