Look at you, you disgust me
sitting there, staring at me
giving me no more respect
than the images on your TV
and I have a wish for you, oh I have wish for you
may all your mornings be bright
may all your wool stockings fit a little too tight
may alarms that sound on the cars around town
they all must never be found
your palette is dry and your tongue is green
that's me in your head telling you to stay off my scene
your drunk and I suppose it's your excuse
but really, you know, I’m not the anchor of the 10 o' clock news
a toast to you mine appropriate friends
Godspeed to the bathroom tiles
your unbridle ignorance truly offends
it's a drinking song in the grande style
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