I want to be with you with all your faults.
Your jealous ways. Not wanting me to yell at the kids.
Then you turning around and letting them have it.
When I was so freely gave to the world you complained
I hadn’t kissed you good night earnestly.
You put me on the spot wherever.
Why wouldn’t you allow me to be
an angel or devil on my own?
And now you’re at peace laughing at me.
But I’m getting even.
Any time I see somebody poking along
I keep my cool and stop and talk.
I know if I try passing them you’ll say,
“Bill, remember me? The slow poke!”
If I’d go to correct our kids you’d tip them off
and they won’t show.
If I dare say you weren’t perfect
they’d bury me alive.
With you, of course.
And now we’re more comfortable.
If not let’s go at it forever.