Porches - Fog Dog

Today I was good at the city
Today I made some money
See, mommy?
Today I kissed a real beauty
She was a painting she was glowing
She was Santa Fe and roughed-up copper
A real wrist-knocker

A teenager next to an ash tray
Under a grand piano they laid
And nostrils flared as they misbehaved

David, he played us a silent fugue
Ears stuffed with flowers while Joe-Joe cruised
And Duncan stirred though nothing was heard

And I thought I saw your face in the fog
But it was just the fog
Oh, my God
The fruits were all cold
The fruits were all cold
The fruits were all cold
The fruits were all cold
And swelling
They put a hard face to soft sleep
Pillowly
Oh, daddy
I'm seventeen (twenty-three)
Well, aren't all we?

Written by:
Aaron Cooper Maine

Publisher:
Lyrics © DOMINO PUBLISHING COMPANY

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