You work that fancy language
Like Beelzebub at my ear
The words you speak
Ain’t the same as the message
That I’m gettin loud and clear

You pass that loco reefer
Like the ice cream man on my street
And all the while
You think you’re clever
As if I couldn’t keep my feet

You scheme and plot and run the numbers
Until they come out right
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday,
Friday, Saturday night

But with Sunday comes the paper
With a headline loud and true:
If you think
You’ll win me over
Then you better get a clue.