Taylor sing and play along

They say Taylor was a good girl,

never one to be late, complain,

express ideas in her brain.

Working on the night shift, passing out the tickets;

you're gonna have to pay her if you want to park here.

Well, mommy's little dancer has quite a little secret;

working on the streets now, never gonna keep it.

It's quite an imposition and now she's only wishing that she would have listened to the words they said.

Poor Taylor.

She just wanders around,

unaffected by the winter winds, yeah.

And she'll pretend that

she's somewhere else

so far and clear,

about two thousand miles

from here.

Peter Patrick pitter patters on the window,

but Sunny Silhouette won't let him in.

Poor old Pete's got nothing 'cause he's been falling.

Somehow Sunny knows just where he's been.

He thinks that singing on Sunday gonna save his soul

now that Saturday's gone.

Sometimes he thinks that he's on his way,

but I could see

that his brake lights are on.

Such a tough enchilada filled up with nada,

giving what she gotta give to get a dollar bill.

Used to be a limber chicken,

times a been a ticking.

Now, she's finger licking to the man with the money in his pocket,

flying in his rocket, only stopping by on his way to a better world.

If Taylor finds a better world,

then Taylor's gonna run away.