Trifling
You're trifling,
you're lazy as can be
You can't even take care of your own slothful self,
how in the world are you gonna support me
Hey, mister lazy bones,
I know you don't like hearing this bad four-letter word:
Work,
gets you bacon, lettuce and bread
Work,
gets your hungry belly fed
Work,
gets you in the black, out of the red
Work,
takes care of your family once you're dead
But you're so trifling,
you ain't listened to a word I just said
It's 2 in the afternoon, and you're still in bed
I bet if you were late night starving,
and surrounded by mountains of potato chips
You'd be too lazy to take your hand off your chest,
reach down and scoop up a few to your lips
You're just plain trifling,
too lazy and utterly shiftless
You leave a trail of clothes every time you undress
Well, mister trifling,
I got some late, real late breaking news:
Your suitcase is on the sidewalk;
so enjoy the big outdoors bedroom,
with a sky clock set to always stay on snooze
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