Deadbeat Daddy-O

He's a deadbeat daddy-o,
can't you tell?
Driving up in his Camaro;
barks his orders to the girls.
Stringing them like popcorn,
like lights on a tree,
like every day's a
fucking holiday.

For daddy the party never ends--
the party favors change
and he begins again. Fishing,
snaring one in on his pole.

Looking for that one catch-all
dissipation, the one that will
take him out-- out for a good time--
out-- out onetwothree out-- out.

He's the good time daddy-o,
all right,
and the girls scream, "Daddy, oh!"
Never knowing they are
a procession, a parade;
guests at the unending
celebration of ego,
and even he is
unaware.