I hear the rumor mill is turning To try and stop it is a waste of time Who fucked who will be on the front page The local air is thick with painted lies
When you go out they'll be watching (eyes on you) Come tomorrow and they'll all start talking,
Accusations and assumptions Will fill you up and start to cloud your mind The room is filled with stagnant conversation I see right through it with discerning eyes More from The Mad Caddies