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The Living Tombstone

Don't Tattle On Me

 

Don't Tattle On Me


No more Mama
No more Mama

I can't sleep, leap out of bed
Creep down the hall, sneak down the steps
Into the creepy, creaky basement and discreetly peek at my gifts
Open up, what could it be?
That motor-mouth, those rosy cheeks!
A baby talking Tattletail, who babbles without fail

Don't tattle on me, don't tattle on me
'Cause Mama's sleeping and Mama's scary
No, don't you speak, or I might scream
'Cause if she finds you, who knows what she'll do

Hide and seek under the tree
Red glowing eyes are all I see
Maternal stalker by the stockings
Matricidal children plotting
Charge you, brush you, feed you treats
Hey, who's the toy here, you or me?
Infernal presence in the presents
Unsettled machine

Don't tattle on me, don't tattle on me
'Cause Mama's listening and Mama's scary
No, don't you speak or I might scream
'Cause if she finds you, who knows what she'll do

Wound up like a VHS
Shook up and I'm in distress
Locked up in a cardboard box
Broke up like a shattered pot
Wake up from a bad, bad dream
Strung up like a Christmas tree
Messed up, so she got recalled
Shut up

And don't tattle on me, don't tattle on me
'Cause Mama's watching and Mama's scary
Don't make a peep or I might scream
'Cause if she finds you, you know what she'll do
So, don't tattle on me!

Ha-ha

hecho

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