Following a comment by Brett, I rushed out and bought a Tom Waits CD (which my young daughter thinks is ‘very silly’ - and I‘ve only had it a day!). I attempt here to do something in his style of leisurely rambling drawl. I've probably failed miserably but hey-ho!
To be read with your best gravel voice whilst paying little attention to the tempo.
It was a quarter past four; I scooped my socks up off the floor,
and ambled to the old nylon washing line that hung just outside of my old back door.
My underwear was already there, gently blowin’ in the breeze,
I looked to the skies with bourbon bleary eyes and fell down on my weary suburban homeowner’s knees.
For there, pegged out rather nonchalantly, for everyone to see,
were my best Y-fronts - displaying some quite unsavoury marks that indicated I’d had a few minor issues during a recent trip to the lavatory.
I’ve got the washing day blues,
mixed my whites in with my jeans
and now everything has turned out blue, it seems.
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