Kiss Me, You Tramp

Well look who the feck decided to show up
Like she's a real somebody

My sister from Padern
Back to rub it in me face
That she married a man
With two good eyes
And the inability to raise his voice
Due to a hole in his trachea

C'mere and kiss me, you tramp
Don't just stand there
Looking like the whore you are

Oh, she's married now
So she can't be a whore
Is that the case?

Must have missed that rule
In me copy of the whorebook

Rules for Sluts

You've memorized it, haven't you, doll?

She went painting every house in town
And then she met a man
Who already had his house painted
And told her she could just sit outside
And watch the paint dry

And she was just thrilled
Weren't you, doll?

While I was the good sister
And stayed to take care of Ma

That withered old hag
Sucked the life out of me
Like a drunk sucks on a lemon

And there you were
Getting married
Getting fat
Getting high on life
Like a princess

Like you never remembered
All the whorin' and the sluttin'
And who would open the window for you
When you'd come back late at night
Smelling like the carpet
In a cheap motel room

Complete with the cigarette stains

Isn't it grand what life lets you forget, doll?
Isn't it just a miracle
What the mind erases for you
So you can go on livin' a guilt-free life
While your sister toils away
In the same town you ran from
Forgetting to take her with you
Even though there was plenty of room
On the lucky train you sailed away on

Train, boat, who the feck cares?

The metaphor remains

You left me here
And now you're back
Wanting a parade

Well unless I can take that parade
Over your dead carcass
Don't plan on getting one, doll

What's that?

A guest room

Do you be getting many guests
In Dried Up Whore Ville
Where you live?

Hmm?

For me?

Guest room for me?

Will I be your guest?

Permanently?

Are you joking, doll?

Ohhh my word

Pregnant, are you?
Well I should have known
You're already popping out
Like a bag full of kernels

And you need some help, do you?

Well, that is sensible, doll

You raise that kid yourself
With that mouse-voiced husband of yours
And the kid'll turn out
Eating his own fingernails
And sniffing crayon shavings

Yeah, I suppose I can come help you
For a little bit anyway
But don't go thinkin' I'm stayin' for long
Because I still have a life of me own to live

I call the Bingo numbers now
And if I'm away too long
Those old fools at the church
Will just sit there
Staring at their cards
With their markers going dry

Yeah, I'll be your Auntie
And that little asshole in you's Auntie too

Now kiss me, you tramp
Then help me pack

And don't think you're not paying me either

Love don't come for free, you know

Oh no

It costs good and plenty