Sorry 'Bout That

Sorry 'bout that.
All you say is
"Sorry 'bout that."
Yesterday you
Broke my watch and
Drank my scotch and
Used my razor,
Burnt my blazer,
Incidently
Wrecked my Bentley,
Then as I bled, you said,
"Sorry 'bout that."

Sorry 'bout that.
You're the fink who's
Sorry 'bout that.
Just to think you
Kicked my puppy,
Starved my guppie,
Smashed my Ming vase,
Stole my string bass,
Crushed my hat, man,
Turned off Batman,
Then like a snake, you spake,
"Sorry 'bout that."

Try a different melody on your ukulele,
Or you'll soon be sittin' there strummin
"Won't You Please Come Home, Bill Bailey"

Sorry 'bout that.
Pussycat, you're
Sorry 'bout that.
You're the rat who
Trumped my ace and
Scratched my face and
Gave your sister
My transistor,
Tore my vest, friend,
Kissed my best friend,
Then to us both, you quoth,
"Sorry 'bout that."

Fella named Lou
Had this chick, see,
Somethin' like you.
Just for kicks he
Mobbed her, robbed her,
Shishkebabbed her,
Dropped her from a
Helicopter,
Gagged her, bound her,
Buzzards found her.
Baby, that's where it's at.
Sorry 'bout that.

Return to "My Son, The Box" -- The Allan Sherman CD Box Set

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