We were all alone Then she bit my bone I said let's sell the phone Try to get away I knew she was in heat She nailed at my feet Wet socks on the floor But it's all the same Last year we got sick Doctors did the trick Now I gotta use a stick But it's still the same Rough as a match-pad Dry as a cactus
Oh, no You go home Post policemen fill up day Student-teacher's license plates Eat my dinner, words are gone I feel slipped away The moral is don't start Even if you're smart You don't have a chance It's all the same Rough as a match-pad Dry as a cactus Oh, no You go home [Maniacal laughter]