Ms. Patsy

I want him so bad. 
I'll be your pastry, 
Ms. Patsy, they say— 
"But he's my occupational therapy."

It's a mendacious world out there, 
But too genial and gay to see. 
Can he change the weather, 
Or prescribe a good day for me?

I want him so bad. 
Can you boil me some tea? 
Ms. Patsy, they say— 
"But he's just too good to me!"

Ms. Patsy, I do know: 
Gad-abouts are not the best. 
Ms. Patsy, but do you know 
What I heard about the rest?

But Ms. Patsy would say, 
"What good are the rest 
If they are not in my best interest?"

. . . Well, to be in her best interest 
Would be... to love, Ms. Patsy.

But Ms. Patsy, don’t you know— 
He's not so good to me! 
But Ms. Patsy would say, 
“Get out from underneath my tree!”

I say, I want him now! 
Or I declare a war. 
Ms. Patsy, I say, will one day be a whore—

A wild fucking boar!

And don’t forget how she’ll be hooved, 
And in a wedding gown. 
Don’t forget how dumb she’ll look 
Down the aisle when you hear the sound; 

Like cleats on the ground.

And a large snout it would be. Curse Ms. Patsy, I say! 
. . . No matter how much respect she has for me.

A lukewarm heart, I say—she's gone to something else. 
A horrible day, I pray—to put her back on the shelf. 
She once was gold, now dim and stray, 
Too quiet to scream, too tired to stay.

"CURSE MS. PATSY I SAY!!!" . . .

Ms. Patsy, I’d rather say, 
I had my doubts in you. 
Ms. Patsy, don’t you know— 
Me and your mother had no clue!?

But a Ms. Patsy would say, 
“I have my doubts in you. 
Who made the doubts in me? 
You had your doubts in me.

...So, whose turn is it now to be— Ms. Patsy?”