Why Do They
Why do they holler, Why do they yell, Why am I thinking, That I am in hell? Oh my dear goodness, I get roughed up, I need a strong drink, In a big cup. Why must they be mean? Why must they complain? Whatever I do, It all seems in vane. Pester me nightly, and also by day, I'll never stop thinking,... Sign in to see full entry.