Trottin' Horse

03:51
Fang Fang; Mother
2011
Thomas R Manns

Story

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Lyrics

Well at work he’s a mister, as clean as a whistle. A cog in the system, even when the mooks dis him. An urban professor, disruption arrester. Keeps the class nice and neat. Keep them boys in their seats. But after work he’s a pisser.  A regular Tipler. Squeezing the snifter and the bottle he kissed her. Now he’s up to a gallop, and later, it’s worse. Yeah in the evening he ain’t a trotting horse. So he’s up a six thirty. Makes himself look real perty. Grabs his oats and his suger, and he trots out the front door. But as much as Tom wishes, he ain’t doin’ the dishes. Leave em dirty it’s faster and my room a disaster. Were you born in a stable? Should I call you a horsey. Course he will say na’ and he’s talkin’ all Friday. Spits out the bridle, shakes off the saddle. Sidles up to the bar to knock em back for a while. Well at work he’s a mister, as clean as a whistle. A cog in the system, even when the mooks dis him. An urban professor, disruption arrester. Keeps the class nice and neat. Keep them boys in their seats. But after work he’s a pisser.  A regular Tipler. Squeezing the snifter and the bottle he kissed her. Now he’s up to a gallop, and later, it’s worse. Yeah in the evening he ain’t a trotting horse.