Who's Gonna' Hold Their Hand
Who’s gonna' cook the breakfast,
after I’m gone.
Who’s gonna' wash the dishes,
or mow the lawn.
Who’s gonna' make the bed,
or do the laundry instead,
of watching TV.
Oh, I can just see.
They’ll all live in filth and poverty,
after I’m gone.
As I am mopping up the floor,
I ask you once more.
Who’s gonna cook their meals,
after I’m gone.
Who’s gonna' be around,
for them to lean on.
Who’s gonna' make the tea,
or fetch their glasses so they can see,
flush the toilet after they pee,
after I’m gone.
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