Fleashine, shoeshine, man of fifteen Brings the house in with a smile All twelve teeth tell myriad stories One upon one and one
The breath in his hand waving Drives the gypsy woman mad, oh She loves him anyway Has told him so a thousand times or more
She refuses to believe that At forty two years old She's not still a butterfly Ready, ready for the net
Bobby the fifteen is turning strong and soft As can be seen by his patience with the animals He used to hate 'em Now lays down beside them
To keep all from feeling sad As animals sometimes do He dreams of being old enough To marry the girl with two heads
Their name is Gladys And they don't yet know Of the young man's fascination They're too busy drawing circles in their arms
A fleashine, shoeshine, man of fifteen Floating into the next town Puts a straw in a Jim Beam bottle And lays his head down
He puts a straw in a Jim Beam bottle And lays his head downTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
