Songs‎ > ‎


C..                                               F..            
My Daughter has weights in her bedroom
C..                                               G..           
She lifts them up high above her head
C..                                         F..                              
Her bust gets no bigger, but arms sure get thicker 
C..                                G..                              
And her boyfriend now wishes he were dead

I'm homesick, sick of my home
C..                                    G..    
I'm homesick, sick of my home
C..                             C..              
I'm too old to live, to young to die
What the hell here's mud in your eye
C..                  G..             C..    
I'm homesick, sick of my home

My Son steals my clothes from my wardrobe
Wouldn't mind but he looks better than me
My makeup's all missing
I'll bet he's been kissing
The milkman and the boy from number three

When my husband comes home in the morning
I'll rant and I'll rave and I'll scream
I'll bet he's been drinking
His breath will be stinking
And his wallet'll be the only thing that's clean


My wife thinks she's good at home cooking
I'd rather I never got fed
I've got endurance
But she's got insurance
I think she collects when I'm dead