The Barnicle On My Bum Part 2
I could never really understand
Why some women
Won’t give me the time of day
And seem to look the other way
Or I feel like I’m being hunted
And I’m their prey
I just don't get it.
I get so confused
You either win
Or
You lose
And it seems I don’t always have the right
To choose
I’m not exactly George Clooney
But sadly
More like
Micky Rooney
Sometimes when I go to town
I get the feeling
I’m being followed
Around
Maybe it's a deranged psycho killer
And once the huntress spots her prey
I always know what’s to come
They stick to you like barnacles on my bum
Every time I turn around
There she is again
Giving me the eye
But I never caught it or took it
I didn’t even try
Is it my aftershave
Or the way I walk?
Maybe it’s my wallet
In my back pocket
Or the smooth way I talk
Or they're blind short-sighted
I don’t know.
I thought my Mother bless
Was my biggest fan
She taught me to be respectful live life and have fun
But she never warned or taught me
About strange women and about barnacles, on my bum
When I was younger I’d go drinking out in town
Another thing I never understood
Why boys would go outside
To fight over girls
While I was inside with the girls?
They can make you feel like a rockstar
Or make you feel like a falling star
Then it becomes a shame
When they don't even know who you are
Or even know your name
Usually, I take life as it comes
Of course, I like women
But I only want that special one
And not one after my money
I turn around and she's gone
You can go to bed with Priscilla
But without her makeup in the morning
She may look like a gorilla
I like to get to know one
And have a choice like some
But not like those pesty
Deranged but sweet
Barnacles on my bum.
Peter Dome©2024.
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