And ...

Well I heard a lovely rumour that Bette Midler had a tumour
So gleefully I went to tell my friends
But they said it was a lie, and she wasn't going to die
And by the way, have we got news for you

And they told me that the man I had always known as Dad
Hadn't met my Mum when I was born
And they reckoned that I am, but I hope to God I'm not
The bastard son of Dean Friedman

And my school-work fell behind
With this bombshell on my mind.
My art teacher said he understood.
But he could only sympathise
With the sadness in my eyes,
Even though he'd showed me his Magritte

And in the "Corridors of Fear"
I would shed a lovely tear,
As ridicule flew at me from both sides.
And they mocked me in my mocks,
And embroidered in my socks,
The bastard son of Dean Friedman,
The bastard son of Dean Friedman.

Supercalifragilisticborussiamoenchengladbach

And you can thank your lucky stars
That you're not the bastard son of Dean Friedman
The bastard son of Dean Friedman.

Posted By: Ottosson Foxtrot, Jul 12, 10:46:55