C . . . F . . . C . . . G . . .

C . . . F . . . C . .  G . .  C . . .

C . . . C . . . G . . . C . . . F . . . C . . G . .  C . .

My Daughter has weights in her bedroom

She lifts them up high above her head

Her bust gets no bigger, but arms sure get thicker 

And her boyfriend now wishes he were dead

I'm homesick, sick of my home

I'm homesick, sick of my home

I'm too old to live, to young to die

What the hell here's mud in your eye

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

*Bonus*

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