| At twelve midnight I called my mom
|
| On April Fool’s Day morn
|
| We two are close sometimes I think
|
| Because I was breech-born
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| The doctor reached inside of her
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| He turned me 'round and pulled me out
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| I emerged her bloody babe
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| His slap produced my shout
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| At twelve midnight I telephoned
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| On April Fool’s Day morn
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| I told mom I’d be home late
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| Then I hung up the horn
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| I went back to the party then
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| I got drunk with all the boys
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| Our florid faces shown so bright
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| We made a lot of noise
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| By 2am we all were drunk
|
| On April Fool’s Day morn
|
| We had insulted many folk
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| Garnered plenty scorn
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| We boys, some girls and some hangers-on
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| Formed a jolly caravan
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| We headed for my canyon home
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| To make our fool’s day stand
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| Tempers flared and tears were shed
|
| On April Fool’s Day morn
|
| Tequila ripped and on a tear
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| My party shirt got torn
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| I tried to take a woman down
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| Right there on the bathroom floor
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| She refused, I threw her out
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| Screaming, «Bitch!» |
| and «Whore!» |
| I threatened one poor hanger-on
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| With a knife he was warned
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| By 5 a.m. just three were left
|
| On April Fool’s Day morn
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| An English fool, an Irish fool
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| And me, their foolish Yankee host
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| We kissed and cried and swore our love
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| And drank one final toast
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| By 6 a.m., those two passed out
|
| On April Fool’s Day morn
|
| I drove to Santa Monica
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| A girl there got me warm
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| By 10 a.m., I drove back home
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| I rousted out my half-dead friends
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| We said goodbye with downcast eyes
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| So sheepish in the end
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| My mother came out of her room
|
| On April Fool’s Day morn
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| She spied her sorry breech-born
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| Hungover and forlorn
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| I am too old, too large, too close
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| To crawl up on my mother’s knee
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| So eggs and bacon, coffee, toast
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| Were placed in front of me |