Don't call me for supper
if you don't mean to feed me
don't tell me you love me
with that gun in your hand
Do you mind if I talk?
Do you mind if I speak?
I would like to be frank:
your cooking is wretched
and this coffee is rank
There's a house we call love,
built next door to hate,
and both them got lawns
with a white picket gate
Their taxes don't differ
and their water's the same
But in one you get comfort
and in the other house shame
