I tried to get away but my car was sputtering.
I tried to stay but my heart was fluttering.
I tried to think of what to say but my words were stuttering.
I was on a roll that needed buttering.
I tried to lay down in the gutter and
think of all the things that needed uttering
but the clutter in my brain was too much to get around.
See I’m a lovering, hovering brother and
son of a dad, son of a mother and,
son of a gun, I’m something or notherin
not even cold but to think I’m shuddering
fumbling, mumbling, like a bee I’m bumbling
sure is humbling to be stumbling
but the clutter in my brain was too much to get around.