As I walked into the charity store I saw a second-hand shirt hangin' up by the door The collar was frayed, there was a stain on the cuff Caused by ketchup or blood or some such stuff It wasn't made of polyester or nylon The label said "made in the uk" so I tried it on And I looked in the mirror and declared "I like this shirt, I want it"
It's not the label on the shirt that you wear It's the way that you wear it They say it's style and breeding and culture that counts But you can't change good taste on the expense account And if design or fashion makes you a hero You can dress all highbrow but still be an emotional zero But I declare "it's not the shirt you wear It's the way that you wear it"
I was looking for danger, I should have taken more care I was dressed to kill, I felt so debonair Wild expectations, arrogant air Then I walked into that bar, she was standing there I walked over with all my savoir fair And she said "you're a smart looking dude But your character's ugly, it clashes with my shoes And I, I can't stand your attitude"
I assumed it was leading to a romantic interlude I thought my conquest was made But I was stunned by the magnitude Of her ingratitude I spent a good thirty bucks on this babe Like the shirt I was wearing
This romantic affair was not destined to last The harder I tried, the louder she laughed I was reduced to despair, my emotions laid bare She knew I was hurt, made me feel like a jerk I was humbled, humiliated, castrated My masculinity dragged through the dirt Then thrown in the air to be devoured by the lions The vultures, the jackals and all the scavengers of love I was strutting around with my chest stuck out Like a peacock preparing to get laid Thought I looked cool but she put me down She said "you look like a clown on a circus parade" Still the shirt has class, it looks well made She was a babe of the first degree She was totally fantabulous Like a goddess from greece and yet The epitome of the 20th century femininity She was in her own league She was meant for me, it was destiny Like adam and eve, synchronisity She brought out the testosterone in me
Last time I saw that babe she was smiling contentedly Now I'm trapped on this murder rap, a mistaken identity It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me Now this cop says "it's up to you, death row or solitude Crime of passion, you should plead 'insane' You say you wouldn't lie, but we've just blown your alibi We've found your shirt and it's got a blood stain"
It was the shirt you were wearing It was the shirt you were wearingTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
