Manners

Sit up straight, good, sit up straight, good

Sit up straight, good, sit up straight, good

Sitting at the table playing with my stack of peas

Waiting 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", "Playing 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