Fred Lane - Rubber Room Lyrics
People stop and ask me about my wifeThey think I, broke my armIt's just imagination,It's no big deal;I never felt better, in my lifePeople stop and ask me about my broken arm (yeah)They think I beat my wifeIt's... the simplest dreamsI don't let it worry meCause-I'm in the prime, of my life...Gonna go to the store, and purchase some hardware, my dearThen I'll get in the carPick up some chickenArrive at your doorA-which I will be kickin'-inThen I'll say, "What a day!, Whattya say, we both go have a drink or two?Then I'll put it to your foreheadPut it to your templePut it to your midriffI'll attempt to make a dimpleThen I'll put it in, put it in, put it in, put it in a-ho-Then I'll put it to your eyeballPut it ot your face-Mix up a high-ballDrink it to the master raceThen I'll put it in, put it in, put it in, put it in a-ho-EyeshadeDropwaveBondoFishfryBimboCramshaftTincanLuncheonetteTwo-timeBylineSpidelTwist-o-flexPlaytexDoorjamPassportLibidoDipsumDrip-drySkidrowCrowflyBackboardCheese curlsEstrusSeven-upCarpetDoorjamKniick-knackRoadtopEstrogenMeattoungVynilChlorideChecklistBroomideP.H. DonahueTobaccoGumshoeBowtieTickertapeStepwavePrsotituteRiff-raffCar keysElbowKnick-knackDispatchTelephoneMisfitsLunarSix-packChreeme cheeseTreacupSit downLosose lipsPeatdownFeelupThe wetdownBuild-upThe letdownLet-upThe bigtopA-sho-nuffA leg dropYou build-upThe let-downYou build-upThe let-downYou build-upThe let-downI don't slip on the tileIn a empty hospital;I don't choke on my bileEverythings' sunny weatherI'm a happy, sappy, son-of-a-gun;Livin' in a rubber room
