Coffee & Dolls
It was a storefront for a small-time numbers runner,
pretending to be some sort of grocery. Coffeemakers
and Bustello cans populated the shelves, sparsely.
Who was fooled. The boxes bleached in the sun,
the old guys sat inside on summer lawn chairs,
watching tv. The applause from the talk shows and game shows
washed out the propped-open door like distant rain.
It closed for a few months. The slick sedan disappeared.
One spring day, it reopened, this time a sign
decorated the window: COFFEE & DOLLS.
Yarn-haired, gingham-dressed floppy dolls
lolled among the coffee cans. A mastiff puppy,
the size and shape of a tipped-over fire hydrant,
guarded as the sedan and the old guys returned.
I don't know about you, but I've been looking
for a narrative in which suffering makes sense.
I mean, the high wail of the woman holding her dead child,
the wail that filled the street. I mean the sudden
fatal blooms on golden skin. I mean the crack deaths,
I mean the ice-cream truck that cruised the alphabets
and sold crack to the same deedle-dee-dee tune as fudgesicles.
I mean the raw scabs of the beaten mastiff, and many other things.
poem by April Bernard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
11. Coffee & Dolls
It was a storefront for a small-time numbers runner,
pretending to be some sort of grocery. Coffeemakers
and Bustello cans populated the shelves, sparsely.
Who was fooled. The boxes bleached in the sun,
the old guys sat inside on summer lawn chairs,
watching tv. The applause from the talk shows and game shows
washed out the propped-open door like distant rain.
It closed for a few months. The slick sedan disappeared.
One spring day, it reopened, and this time a sign
decorated the window: COFFEE & DOLLS.
Yarn-haired, gingham-dressed floppy dolls
lolled among the coffee cans. A mastiff puppy,
the size and shape of a tipped-over fire hydrant,
guarded as the sedan and the old guys returned.
I don't know about you, but I've been looking
for a narrative in which suffering makes sense.
I mean, the high wail of the woman holding her dead child,
the wail that filled the street. I mean the sudden
fatal blooms on golden skin. I mean the crack deaths,
I mean the ice-cream truck that cruised the alphabets
and sold crack to the same deedle-dee-dee tune as fudgsicles.
I mean the raw scabs of the beaten mastiff, and many other
things.
poem by April Bernard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wail! , Wail! ! , Wail! ! ! for HAITI.
Wail, ! Wail, ! ! Wail for HAITI! ! ! ! ! !
Wail for the sight is Gory,
Wail for the deaths of these Infants
Wail for the deaths of these women, ; young, and Old
Wail for the loss of the productive workforce of this Nation
Wail for the Calamity that came within few seconds to claim thousands of lives.
Wail for the loss of generations of this Land called Haiti
Wail for the Unconsolable mothers, and fathers for the loss of their loved ones
Wail, if you have tears in your tear glands,
Wail, if you have heart that is meek
May the Almighty console us all, for the sights of the dead in the rubbles too frightening to look.
poem by Segun Rasaki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead Guy Stickers
In the USA,
They want to put dead guy pictures on cigarette packs.
With that brilliant logic in mind, I say put dead guy stickers on:
car windshields(dead guys in wrecks)
pistol and rifle handles (dead guys shot)
marriage licenses (dead spouses)
hamburger and hot dog wrappers (dead fat guys)
pies, cakes (more dead fat guys)
bathroom doors (thousands of dead guys in bathrooms every year)
bicycles (road kill dead guys)
fire places (burnt dead guys)
swimming pools (drown dead guys)
every electrical outlet (fried dead guys)
air plane tickets (dead passenger guys)
the beach (shark bit dead guys)
cities (shot dead guys)
air (blue dead guys)
fish (poisoned dead guys)
motorcycles (more road kill dead guys)
scarfs (strangled dead guys)
football helmets (brain dead guys)
hot tubs (more drowned dead guys)
and so on.
Just about everything can kill you, such as:
Mothers (dead baby guys plus dead fathers)
Fathers (dead baby guys plus dead mothers)
Police(multiple dead guys and chicks)
Drugs (multiple dead guys and chicks)
and so on.
Once everything has a dead guy sticker on it,
You've been warned and the world will be safer, right?
It shows we care, right?
poem by Richard Jarboe
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The County Jail
Men late at night cook coffee in rusty cans,
just like in the hills, like in their childhoods,
without rules or guidance or authority, their fathers
dead or wild as gypsies,
their mothers going down for five dollars.
These are the men who surface at night,
The sons of faceless parents,
the sons of brutal days dripping blood,
the men whose faces emerge from shadows,
from bars,
and they join in circles and squat on haunches,
share smokes, and talk of who knows who,
what towns they passed through;
while flames jump under the coffee can,
you see new faces and old ones,
the young eyes scared and the old eyes
tarnished like peeling boat hulls,
like wild creatures they meet,
with a sixth sense inside of them, to tell them
who’s real and who’s the game;
and their thoughts are hard as wisdom teeth,
biting into each new eye,
that shows itself around the fire.
The coffee is poured steaming hot into cups,
and the men slowly sip.
Shower stalls drip bleakly in the dark,
and the smell of dumb metal is inflamed
with the acrid silence, and once in a while,
a cab horn will sound from outside the windows,
and the man with only a cheek illuminated by the fire,
the rest of his face drenched in shadows,
will get up and leave the circle,
return to his bunk.
poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca
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Shoot High Aim Low
We hit the blue fields
In the blue sedan we didnt get much further
Just as the sun was rising in the mist
We were all alone we didnt need much more
So fast this expidition
So vast this heavy load
With a touch of luck and a sense of need
Seeing the guns and their faces
We look around the open shore
Waiting for something
Shoot high break low
Aim high shoot low
Break high let go
Shoot high aim low
This was to be our last ride
With the steel guitar and the love you give me
Underneath the skin a feeling, a breakdown
Well we sat for hours on the crimson sand
Exchanges in the currency of humans bought and sold
And the leaders seem to lose control
Shall we lose ourselves for a reason
Shall we burn ourselves for the answer
Have we found the place that were looking for
Someone shouted open the door
Lookout
Shoot high break low
Aim high shoot low
Feeling of imagination
Break high let go
Shoot high aim low
Shoot high aim low
Nothing you can say
Shoot high let go
Takes me by surprise
Shoot high aim low
Who sayss theres got to be a reason
Shoot high let go
Who says theres got to be an answer
We were all alone, we didnt need much more
Shoot high aim low
The suns so hard on this endless highway
Shoot high let go
Shoot high aim low
Ive heard the singers, who sing of love
Shoot high let go
In the blue sedan we never got much further
Shoot high aim low
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shoot High Aim Low
We hit the blue fields
In the blue sedan we didnt get much further
Just as the sun was rising in the mist
We were all alone we didnt need much more
So fast this expidition
So vast this heavy load
With a touch of luck and a sense of need
Seeing the guns and their faces
We look around the open shore
Waiting for something
Shoot high break low
Aim high shoot low
Break high let go
Shoot high aim low
This was to be our last ride
With the steel guitar and the love you give me
Underneath the skin a feeling, a breakdown
Well we sat for hours on the crimson sand
Exchanges in the currency of humans bought and sold
And the leaders seem to lose control
Shall we lose ourselves for a reason
Shall we burn ourselves for the answer
Have we found the place that were looking for
Someone shouted open the door
Lookout
Shoot high break low
Aim high shoot low
Feeling of imagination
Break high let go
Shoot high aim low
Shoot high aim low
Nothing you can say
Shoot high let go
Takes me by surprise
Shoot high aim low
Who sayss theres got to be a reason
Shoot high let go
Who says theres got to be an answer
We were all alone, we didnt need much more
Shoot high aim low
The suns so hard on this endless highway
Shoot high let go
Shoot high aim low
Ive heard the singers, who sing of love
Shoot high let go
In the blue sedan we never got much further
Shoot high aim low
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coffee
Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee
affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you;
it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but
as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you
what I mean.
Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us
is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.
I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs.
The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.
Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she
took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it
did not please her.
Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went,
pretending to be naive.
"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."
"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world
that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram
from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing
else.
"All right," she said.
I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They
had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went
into the kitchen.
She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a
cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove
and turned the gas on under it.
All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I
won't. She left the kitchen.
Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember
seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door
after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.
I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October
and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water
into the sink.
The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.
I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage
and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and
peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.
It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.
I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon
all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of
coffee.
When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a
grave, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee."
"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her
voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.
I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came, I
had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.
We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. It
was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San
Francisco. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.
I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we
were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now.
I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell. That was a small victory. One must
keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.
She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that
she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was
seeing me. I walked right into the house.
She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile. She had not
bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself. She was just holding the robe in
front of herself.
I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind
of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for
a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me.
Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.
"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like
talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."
She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of
her body. This was not good.
"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want
a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed."
The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like
going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like
going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.
I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not
planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an
empty white cup and a spoon.
They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has
enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee.
poem by Richard Brautigan from Revenge of the Lawn (1971)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Fancy Dan
Fancy Dan had a big sedan
which he raced around the road,
its alright he told everyone
I have driven around these roads for years
and I know them like the back of my hand.
That I could do it with my eyes closed,
nothing ever changed
until one day his sedan he rearranged
and after the accident everyone asked what went wrong,
we though you knew these roads like the back of your hand.
I did but on that morning something changed, without warning
and I did not see it coming
as I was driving with my eyes closed.
Now Fancy Dan has to buy a brand new model sedan
and maybe he’ll remember
everything changes from one day to another.
You might think you know something well,
but you never know it at all.
Tomorrow it will change
and if you ignore that premise,
it might be you next time
that gets to rearrange.
6 October 2009
poem by David Harris
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Gunman
Gunamn, my sort of star, we put you there
Youre all of us now, youre all over town
An wrappers and cans, youre bigger then life
Youre braver than dad
Youre a gunman, holding your own
Youre a gunman, never alone
Gunamn, leader of packs, shadow of death
Killer in chic, never betrayed, friend of our kids
Youre a gunman, holding your own
Youre a gunamn, never alone
Gunman . . . gunman . . . trader in arms
Kids on the street, buying your charms
Gunman, my sort of star, we put you there
Youre all of us now, youre all over town
On wrappers and cans, youre bigger than life
Youre braver than dad
Youre a gunman, holding your own
Youre a gunman, youre never alone
Gunman . . . gunamn
Gunman, my sort of star, were bleeding for you, we put you there
What would you give, your all of us now, were burning for you
Youre all over our town, gunman, youre on rappers and cans
Youre bigger than life and were dying for you and youre braver than dad, gunman. . .
Youre woman are dogs
But theyre braver than you
Were bleeding for you
What would you give
Were burning for you, gunman
We invented you, now weve gotta live with you, youre more solid
Than a rock, a rock of cocaine or crack or ice or death
Like a rock of death, like a gravestone, gunman. . .
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crack At Your Love
Ive been keepin my eyes on you
I finally found the nerve to talk to you
Theres something that you ought to know
Dont you know that I love you so
Our life together could be eternal bliss
If we could just get close enough to kiss
And ya know Id like to get a crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
You make me feel so warm inside
A sense of humor you cant hide
Who taught you darlin how to move that way?
And when you smile I know the worlds okay
And when I see the twinkle in your eye
It sends my heart all the way to the sky
And ya know Id like to get a crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Lonely nights, lonely days
Lonely nights, lonely days
Im reachin out for you
In my mind, in my mind
Im goin crazy
Would ya be my baby
Im gonna need a little help from above
Would ya say no if I asked for your love?
I cant afford to get hurt again
Like the time I remember when
But I know Id like to get a crack at your
And ya know Id like to get a crack at your
Dont ya know Id like to get a crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
Crack at your love
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If You Only Know I Can Also Make A Love Poem For You
you need not open your door
i know someone lives there
and there is no seat for me
but you may open your window
for tonight i can be the moon
and if he sees me and closes the
window i may look for a crack
a little crack made by this termite
and i can be a hush of the wind
getting in trying to touch your skin
if he seals the crack i may be
part of the rain and i may enter
on some slits of your roof
and still drip on your lock of hair
for with you my love even if
there is no possibility
that i can be with you yet this love
though late can still last a lifetime
finding the ways till it finds you
finally loving and kissing me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Five Guys Named Moe
I gotta tell you a story from way back
Truck on down and dig me jack
Theres big moe, little moe, four-eyed moe, no moe,
Look at brother, look at brother, look at brother eat moe
Moe, moe, moe, moe, moe, moe, moe
Whos the greatest band around
Makes the cats jump up and down
Whos the talk of rhythm town
Five guys named moe
When they start to beat it out
Everybody jump and shout
Tell me who do the critics rave about
Five guys named moe
They came out of nowhere
But that dont mean a thing
They rate high and youll know why
When you hear them sing
High brow, low brow, all agree
Theyre the best in harmony
Im telling you folks you just got to see
Five guys named moe
Theres big moe...
Little moe...
One guy... big moe
Two guys... little big moe
Three guys... four-eyed moe
Four guys... no moe
Five guys... eat moe
Five little guys named moe
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Hands Are Stronger Now
she greets you by the door. She knows you are coming.
Her heart pounds for you.
She shows the room. It looks for you for many years.
Now she brags the room is alive.
she opens the window and lets the air
and the trees know that you are here finally.
they all talk about you know.
they nod, you are no longer a dog.
Or a parakeet.
The chair opens its arms for you.
You take your seat.She asks you if you miss coffee.
Black coffee, without sugar.
You look around. There is nothing changed here.
20 years ago, all the structures are faithful
to their positions.
They miss you and like to embrace you.
She is restrained like a dam.
No tears this time.
Not even some tears of joy.
She knows why you are here.
The room, the tree and the window,
the floors are blind.
She knows that this will be the last time
of your compromise.
She is dead 20 years back
when you told her
about the truth.
How can she feel like the room, the floor,
the tree and the window
How can she be as foolish as air and cloud?
Her hands are strong now.
They write her name, her signature to sorrow.
Her heart notes the final statement.
Life is over.
Game is over.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stars, Stripes and Paper Dolls
Stars, stripes and paper dolls
Sometimes most prominent inside
My troubled mind,
That sordid spirit had
Locked the door to humanity-
I was none but a child-
Too many dreams
Snakes at my bedside-
My delusional world
Alive last night,
This morning and at
Noon, every night-
Walking the tightrope day by day
Some child lashing out at me, spit in my face-
None but a child myself-it frightened me-
I became a prisoner inside the world of my dreams-
Locked inside with a platinum key-
Fell one day down the elevator slats-
Closed the door on humanity, I did-
Stars, stripes and paper dolls-
Each had a name-
Intruders from a different galaxy, or perhaps
Some other universe-
I never saw that child again- I had shut the whole world out-
A snake wrapped about my mother’s severed hand-
It hardly mattered; she was close by, protecting me-
Locked inside a world I had
Fabricated for my self alone-
Sitting cross legged on the carpet, staring at the ceiling-
They threatened to take me away last night-
Today, tomorrow, noon and at night-
Stars, stripes and paper dolls-
I played as a child of fourteen-
It didn’t matter- they knew the truth, but I didn’t, so
I cried no tears- I hear rain falling outside my window-
My door is unlocked momentarily-
I ride my proud stallion into the night-
Losing insight and finding my dreams-
Stars, stripes and paper dolls- always there for me-
Today, tomorrow and at night- and
I never found the key.
poem by Claudia Krizay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Street Memories
I would look down that desolate street
Where you and I would meet.
In my eyes I see you walking towards me
And my heart would skip a beat.
I’d see the smile upon your face
And feel the tenderness of your embrace.
I’d hear your laughter echoing in my ears
Which would take away the tears.
This street of memories stays in my mind
For my love for you leaves me blind.
The store fronts that we would go into
To get out of the rain.
And look at the children with their
Noses against the window panes.
This street which is walked by every one
Will never tell the things we’ve done.
When we opened up a fire hydrant
So that the children could play
Then we laughed and ran away.
The day that we looked to see
If any cops were around
And tried to fry eggs on the ground.
And when we tied a frank on our dogs tail
He would go in circles and start to wail.
Then we would give him his favorite treat
A cold ice cream to beat the heat.
These are the things I recall
As I look down this street.
This street where you and I would meet!
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Donna-get Off That Crack
Donna has a nine year old kid
In another months time shes expecting twins
She says she can quit anytime she likes
But I know shes on a mission tonight
Donna get off that crack says the sign on the third floor flat
Donna get off that crack just say no get your life back
Dont pay no bills dont pay the rent
But you dont forget where the money went
And who will you turn to when the moneys all gone
Youll wonder why, why you were born
Donna get off that crack says the sign on the third floor flat
Donna get off that crack just say no get your life back
Shes down on the dealing floor
She just wants to do one more
One more time and then shell quit
One more dance just one more hit
Remember frank he cut a dash
So much style so much class
Blown away for the coat on his back
The kid that did it sold his coat for crack
Donna get off that crack says the sign on the third floor flat
Donna get off that crack just say no get your life back
Shes down on the dealing floor
She just wants to do one more
One more time and then shell quit
One more dance just one more hit
Donna get off that crack says the sign on the third floor flat
Donna get off that crack just say no get your life back
(m.charlton)
Copyright 1989 elgin music
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coffee!
Coffee beans all ground up,
Coffee in my favourite cup,
Coffee black, coffee white,
Coffee dark, coffee light,
Coffee right, to start the day,
Coffee at work, coffee at play,
Coffee midday, coffee at night,
Coffee to sober, coffee to excite,
Coffee weak, coffee strong,
But maybe instead some Lapsang Souchong! ! ! !
TEA! ! ! ! !
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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See-line Woman
George bass
Yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
Alright ye
See-line woman
She drink coffee
She drink tea
And then go home
See-line woman
See-line woman
Dressed in green
Wears silk stockings
With golden seams
See-line woman
See-line woman
Dressed in red
Make a man lose his head
See-line woman
See-line woman
Black dress on
For a thousand dollars
She wail and she moan
See-line woman
Wiggle wiggle
Turn like a cat
Wink at a man
And he wink back
Now child
See-line woman
Empty his pockets
And wreck his days
Make him love her
And shell fly away
See-line woman
Take it on out now
Empty his pockets
And she wreck his days
And she make him love her
Then she sure fly away
She got a black dress on
For a thousand dollars
She wail and she moan...
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sea Line Woman
George Bass
yeah
yeah yeah yeah yeah
alright ye
see-line woman
she drink coffee
she drink tea
and then go home
see-line woman
see-line woman
dressed in green
wears silk stockings
with golden seams
see-line woman
see-line woman
dressed in red
make a man lose his head
see-line woman
see-line woman
black dress on
for a thousand dollars
she wail and she moan
see-line woman
wiggle wiggle
turn like a cat
wink at a man
and he wink back
now child
see-line woman
empty his pockets
and wreck his days
make him love her
and she'll fly away
see-line woman
take it on out now
empty his pockets
and she wreck his days
and she make him love her
then she sure fly away
she got a black dress on
for a thousand dollars
she wail and she moan...
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wanna Talk About Me !
Uh huh, thats right
We talk about your work, how your boss is a jerk,
We talk about your church and your head when it hurts.
We talk about the troubles youve been havin wit your brother
bout your daddy and your mother and your crazy ex-lover.
We talk about your friends and the places that youve been,
We talk about your skin and the dimples on your chin.
The polish on your toes and the run in your hose,
And God knows were gonna talk about your clothes.
You know talkin about you makes me smile, but every once in a while,
I wanna talk about me, I wanna talk about i
Wanna talk about number 1 oh my, me, my,
What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see.
I like talkin about you, you, you, you usually, but occasionally
I wanna talk about me! (me, me, me,) I wanna talk about me-e-e. (me, me, me)
We talk about your dreams and we talk about your schemes,
Your high school team and your moisturizer cream.
We talk about your nana up in muntzi, indiana,
We talk about your grandma down in alabama.
We talk about your guys of every shape and size,
The ones that you despize and the ones you idolize.
We talk about your heart, bout your brains and your smarts,
And your medical charts and when you start.
You know talkin about you makes me grin, but every now and then,
I wanna talk about me, I wanna talk about i,
Wanna talk about number 1 oh my, me, my.
What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see.
I like talkin about you, you, you, you usually, but occasionally
I wanna talk about me! (me, me, me,) I wanna talk about me-e-e (me, me, me)
(I wanna talk about me) mmmm me, me, me, me, me
(I wanna talk about me) mmmm me, me, me, me, me
You, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you,
I wanna talk about me!
I wanna talk about me, I wanna talk about i,
Wanna talk about number 1 oh my, me, my.
What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see,
Oh I like talkin about you, you, you, you usually, but occasionally,
I wanna talk about me! (me, me, me) I wanna talk about me-e-e
I wanna talk about me! (me, me, me) no me-e-e! (me, me, me)
song performed by by Toby Keith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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