Vintage Tweed
by Bob Burger

Always the last to arrive at the ball
Servants and maids at your beck and call
C'mon tell me who's gonna be throwin' a pity party now? When your heart is a shambles and your world is tumblin', down

C'mon shake your little skirt, Pull the buttons off your shirt
Go and cast your little curse, on me, Well I Got Your Vintage Tweed

Can't see no stars up in the sky
Can't see no difference in a fact or a lie
So imprisioned you are by the means and the limits of your mind
So convinced and persuaded that you are the victim of a, crime

C'mon pound your little fist, Hail Mary, Mother this
So you think that I should admit my deeds, Well I Got Your Vintage Tweed

So imprisoned you are by the means and the limits of your heart
So convinced and persuaded it's not you that's fallin' a, part

C'mon shake your little skirt, Pull the buttons off your skirt
Go and do your little worst, on me, Well I Got Your Vintage Tweed
I Got Your Vintage Tweed