He said he'd be here at seven
The clock just hit 7:22
It's too cold outside
To
wait for my ride
Watching mama try out a new doo (Bruins)
He said he'd be here at
seven
But it just hit 7:35 (already?)
Here in Brockton, Mass.,
I got my thumb in
my ass
Mama's combing up a big beehive (Celtics)
Where the fuck is he?
/>
Where the fuck is he?
The bitch doesn't even bother calling
Even though it's
7:44 (I fell asleep, pally)
I'm feeling kinda antsy
Mama's getting fancy
Slicking
back a wet pompadour (Red Sox)
He said he'd be here at seven
It's closing in on
8:01 (Trimmin' the ‘stache, kid)
Me lookin' like a sap
In a wool knit cap
/>
Mama's next move is a bun (fuckin' Patriots)
Where the fuck is he? (My pants are
still in the dryer, dude)
Where the fuck is he? (I couldn't find my fuckin' snowboots, pal)
/>
I wish I had a car (Huge, huge hangover)
Oh, no (Massive hailstorm, massive hailstorm,
massive)
That stupid little punk
He's probably fuckin' drunk
I bet he drank
a case
Wanna pop him in the face right now
Mama's eyebrow
Wicked good
/>
Wicked good (Oh, GOD)
Wicked good
Wicked good (Fuck yeah)
Wicked good
/>
Wicked good (Pisser?)
Well my friend is still a no-show
And I'm getting'
fucking pissed (Why?)
‘Cause I could've gone with Charlie
In the side of his
Harley
Mama's on the phone with a stylist (Fuck Charlie!)
So I guess I ain't
going out tonight
‘Cause the digits say 12:09 (Shit-faced)
But call the
operator
‘Cause one perm later
Mama's hair sure do look fine
(Heffenreffer!!!)
