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Long and lanky with knobby knees.
No more baggy dungarees.
Skinny pants from a bygone age,
Now have become the latest craze.
Hair a tumbled mop of brown.
Sideburns hanging way-way down.
Feet in step to the Merzey Beat,
Crazy boots adorn their feet.
How will a Mother know her son,
When they all look alike, every
doggone
one?
His rooms a clutter, the walls aren�t bare.
They�re covered with pictures from here to there.
His drums are standing in the way,
Of a little sister who wants to play.
And the record player is always on,
As loud as can be with a crazy song,
And the fools whose voices I hear all day,
Are named after bugs and chant,yeay,