The Barnicle On My Bum Part 2

I could never really understand Why some women Won’t give me the time of day And seem to look the other way Or I feel like I’m being hunted And I’m their prey I just don't get it. I get so confused You either win Or You lose And it seems I don’t always have the right To choose I’m not exactly George Clooney But sadly More like Micky Rooney Sometimes when I go to town I get the feeling I’m being followed Around Maybe it's a deranged psycho killer And once the huntress spots her prey I always know what’s to come They stick to you like barnacles on my bum Every time I turn around There she is again Giving me the eye But I never caught it or took it I didn’t even try Is it my aftershave Or the way I walk? Maybe it’s my wallet In my back pocket Or the smooth way I talk Or they're blind short-sighted I don’t know. I thought my Mother bless Was my biggest fan She taught me to be respectful live life and have fun But she never warned or taught me About strange women and about barnacles, on my bum When I was younger I’d go drinking out in town Another thing I never understood Why boys would go outside To fight over girls While I was inside with the girls? They can make you feel like a rockstar Or make you feel like a falling star Then it becomes a shame When they don't even know who you are Or even know your name Usually, I take life as it comes Of course, I like women But I only want that special one And not one after my money I turn around and she's gone You can go to bed with Priscilla But without her makeup in the morning She may look like a gorilla I like to get to know one And have a choice like some But not like those pesty Deranged but sweet Barnacles on my bum. Peter Dome©2024.