Gay Factory Worker

Come on in girls, have a seat! Did you bring your own whiskey?

I brought mine. They didn't have it in there

I like whiskey, I like all the shit that's bad for you, you know

So when I die, I want to look dead

You ever go to a funeral and have somebody go, "Oh, he looked so good." Fuck that!

I want people to walk by the casket and start gagging

"God damn clothes, that son of a bitch, he stinks!"

He better be glad he went when he went. He looked like shit

I write all these songs. I take them home to my wife. She's usually a pretty good judge

She usually says, "Oh, that's funnier." "No, that's not funnier."

"Oh, goddamn, you're not going to sing that, are you?"

Those are the ones I sing

Of course, I do this after the kiddies have gone to bed

You know what I mean? Like, "Hey, kiddies, gather around. Daddy's got a dirty little song for you. Here we go. Come on."

My kids don't even know what I do for a living. They think I live at the airport

I'm not shitting you. My kids think, "Ah, he's at the airport

We pick him up on Sunday"

I wrote this song, my wife hates it. Which makes it all that more promising. I'm gonna sing it

He's a...

Gay factory, worker from the south

He'll take what you pee out of and put it in his mouth

He works all day with a great big smile

And he carries a large lunch pail

And after work, it's off to the bar, where he meets his

Boyfriend Dale

They love the songs, love to dance, (hey)

Sometimes without wearin' pants, (ho)

Come on boys lets take the chance

We'll all change our names to Lance

Everybody...

He's a gay factory, worker from the south

He'll take what you pee out of and put it in his mouth

(mumbles to the tune)

(hawks loogie)

Okay