another one bites the dust

check back with me in 1/2 an hour,
near the end of this April shower

or the passing of the big black hearse,
whichever comes first.

the funeral is for mrs. summers
and they're usually perfect bummers

at close to ninety years with balloons,
spent her childhood in cheap saloons

with men who were mainly strangers
wearing masks like fake lone rangers

and she swore like a drunken sailor,
married a poor man who was a tailor

but that husband died from screwing around,
no cure for the disease was ever found

yes, there were kids but hey tough shit,
it's what it is so get over it

she had beauty once but never more,
now we're wondering what was here before

with no morals and maybe less class
there's not much mourning that loss of ass

i counted one daughter sitting near,
seven others shedding not a tear.