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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2073691
Rated: E · Lyrics · Cultural · #2073691
She runs a boutique for the super rich.

And here’s to you, Mrs. Kettlebeck,
prowling through the city dump at night;
don’t seem right.
God bless you please, Mrs. Kettlebeck,
Heaven holds a place for those who save,
hey, hey, hey,
hey, hey, hey.

I’d like to know a little ‘bout you
‘fore I walk away.
I’d like to know why you are so unique.
Elegant the knickknacks taken
from the rubbish heap;
strewn about with pride
in your boutique.

So here’s to you, Mrs. Kettlebeck,
operating for the super rich;
money’s itch.
God bless you please, Mrs. Kettlebeck,
Jesus loves you despite dollar signs,
my, my, my,
my, my, my.

I have to tell you that I’d never
buy a single piece.
I have to let you know your secret’s out.
Seems to me it is like
a tuxedo on a bum;
tell me truly, where
do you come from?

Now here’s to you, Mrs. Kettlebeck,
running a boutique with throw-away;
not today.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, Mrs. Kettlebeck,
knickknacks from the dump’s not apropos,
no, no, no,
no, no, no.


35 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
1-30-16
© Copyright 2016 Teargen (teargen at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2073691