Your conversation centers 'round,
Complaints of one kind or another.
I swear sometimes I think for sure,
You're someone's sainted mother.;
Or someone's maiden aunt, per chance,
Come back from the dead,
To punish me for all my sins,
And fill my life with dread.
You need me though, you know you do.
Without me who would listen,
To all the things you have to...
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