I know the score… I know the signs… there’s no way she’ll decieve me,
She’s running round and packing bags, which means she’s going to leave me.
She wanders way too often for my liking, I must say,
Sometimes she’s hardly here for long before she’s on her way.
“But, girlie, I must go to work, to earn our daily bread.”
I wish that she’d stay home and just play ball with me instead.
“We cannot,” she will frown and say, “do everything we please.
Unless I go to work, there’ll be no tennis balls or cheese.”
Well, okay then, that part I get…I don’t mind telling you
I’ll let her off for working, ’cause it covers chicken too.
But what about the times she loads the bags into the car?
You don’t need tons of suitcases if you’re not going far…
“I never take more…
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