Will you please stop laughing?
It ain’t that funny.
So stop with the hyena act.
Can I help it I got active hormones?
I just got to get a different woman every night, other wise I get bored
Just give me a drink and stop laughing.
Bartenders ain’t supposed to be wise asses.
Okay, so I admit the blonde turned my lights on the moment she walked through the door.
How the hell am I to know that she’s Mary’s sister?
Yeah, that Mary – sweet Mary who gives me what I need when nobody else is around to get it.
Mary, whose talk of love does about as much for my sex drive as a bucket of ice.
And yes, the same Mary who finally told me to get lost, or drop dead or both.
Mary didn’t come in with the blonde so I just strutted over to see if I could help the little lady in any way.
Yes, yes, I did my star trip.
Will you please hold it down? People are looking this way and if they see you laughing they might start laughing, too, and I might have to find another bar to play in.
I hate people laughing at me.
Anyway, this blonde doesn’t know who I am or that I play here with the band.
While that’s a bit of a drag it’s also a blessing since I’ve been with so many women here word has gotten out about me.
Some chicks even call me a heal if you can believe that.
I start my rap with the blonde, figuring I can dazzle her with bullshit long enough to get her out to my car.
Then in comes Mary, screaming across the bar for me to stop.
Sure, you laugh. I seem to remember hearing your chuckle then, too.
You even got snide and asked me: “what are you going to do now, lover boy?”
Okay, I admit I was in a pickle.
Mary yapped at me like a French poodle — so loud every chick in the joint got the message even if Mary’s blonde sister didn’t.
Mary tells me to get away from her.
So I did.
I know Mary, and I didn’t need her to bang no bottle over my head.
I settle here and Mary lays into the blonde with terrible stories about me.
The blonde kept looking over at me with that curious hungry look girls get when they want to play with fire.
That’s when I get an idea and go over to Brillo-faced Beatrice, the girl so ugly and fat people keep trying to sit on her thinking she’s an stuffed arm chair.
Beatrice is a virgin and like it that way – as if she’s got a choice.
So when I tell her Mary told me Beatrice wants to beat me off in my car, Beatrice takes a flying leap at Mary, a tackle any one of the New York Giants would envy.
Sure, I grabbed the blonde’s hand and headed for the dressing room.
Who knew Mary could move soc quick to get out of Beatrice’s way
Or how she grabbed up a bottle without you stopping her.
Okay, stop laughing and get me more ice.
God knows no girl will go with me tonight with a lump this side of my head.
Will you stop laughing and stop calling me lover boy.