Spitball Army

You got a finger in every pie,
Well what did I expect?
You made an art-form out of talking shit,
And partying ’til you’re wrecked.
In the small hours it’s so easy to feel
You’ve got some big ideas,
But in the morning you should put them away
‘Cause you know they’ll end in tears.

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It’s then it hits you she was just the dregs
All you wanna do now is break her legs
Kick that brunette into a pond
Replace her with a platinum blonde

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Being a Beatlemaniac, my claws were out when I first realized what America seemed to be doing with this song, but it is so well done – and such a trifle at 2:42 – that I will give it the “all clear.”

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