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Last Conservative
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Irish
Spare me the drone of your motor mouth whirring
Give them your silly little piece
While I inch my way to some possible redemption
You can't bear the smell of it caked on your feet
So you trample kick make sure the word is out
And you grumble and you stick me with your ego disease
I've met my match
You've put me in my place
Well maybe this is the place
I truly want to be
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I look temptation square in the mouth
Look little girl I see all your charms
And I am punched drunk and it's all going south
but don't think I'll fall into your arms
I'm a man who's learned how to get down on my knees
and I know how to beg for the things that I need
Oh the truth is disguised and your lies are revealed
When word gets around that will be the end of me
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