Boiled In Lead Robin's Complaint
Beware of the women who grind up men's hearts They chew the four chambers and spit out all the parts. They paint their faces with such Byzantine arts And leave you used up in the morning. Beware of the women who promise blue skies There's tornado warnings in the back of their saof eyes. Like a weather forecaster, practiced in their lies They'll leave you a disaster in the morning. Beware of the women who open like fields You can plow all their furrows and count up all their yields, But then John Deere comes by with his newfangled wheels And leaves you with the children in the morning.
