Dear young matt
Why has fate turned you around, and upside down?
You left a wife, a boy of mere nineteen winters gone, gone for long
It's well kosher that sunday roast I'll cook at nine
Come over, that brown eyed baby will be mine
Hitchin in hertfordshire
Topless drinking frostie jack's
'It will screw you over, sunshine
Dear old matt
Why can love not suit you well?
It's easy to dwell
It's well kosher that sunday roast I'll cook at nine
Just come over, that brown eyed baby will be mine
Your fever must break away
To flower, makes it hard to say
Just if you're lonely then throw that roast away
Put your shirt on, and see the light of day