Story Behind the Song
Midnight. Beer. Phone call. To a buddy (tony, I love ya!)to talk over maintenance and construction problems with projects of the female variety. I'm not sure if I wrote this one about something that happened to me or something that happened to him. Either way, the point's the same. If it ain't all right, then ya either try to figure out why, or ya figure out a way to make it right. The only mistake that you can make is taking yourself too seriously.
Lyrics
Grow Down With Me, Baby.
Music and Lyric by Rusty Frioux.
Copyright 1999, FriSpeech.
Well, I think I might grow up next week, now (How's that suit ya, baby?)
Til the, I'll be too damned drunk to speak now (How's that suit ya, baby?)
Well line 'em up, set 'em up, and hang it up
Cuz I'm too damned low for growin' up,
So just grow down with me, baby.
Well, your papa tells you that I'm no good, now (How's that suit ya baby?)
Yeah, your mama says I'd leave ya if I could, now (How's that suit ya baby?)
Well your folks keep tryin' to put me down,
But I'm already living underground,
So just grow down with me, baby.
(Obligatory Southern Rock Guitar and Bass solo...otherwise, i'd'a had to find another 'genre.')
I'm gonna take you on down to the Mardi Gras, now (Come down with me, baby)
Where flashing your 'smile' ain't against the law, now (Won't you look my way, baby?)
Well, you act like a martyr, you act like you pray,
But there's a harlot in you that's just dying to play,
So just grow down with me, baby...
Yeah, grow down with me, baby.
|