Algebra Suicide - Father's by the Door lyrics

Father's by the door. No more jukebox hands or swollen feet No more fun. The house is drained I put on my bravest shirt and get some blueing for these eyes I know this face is money, but the skinny boys won't buy Father's by the door. Father's by the door Forget that saxophone in the subway; that glove, slipped off, which smelled Stop those river of hips: they'll be greeted with a sneer, and fasten your bra**iere Before your breasts become too cold The day reclines and falls asleep, 'cause father's by the door Father's by the door. Father's by the door