There is a lady sweeping her tree, and the toilet paper therein.
Trying to erase every trace of the youthful experience
that took place late last night on her front lawn
as she lay in bed comfortably watching reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond on her plasma screen.

And I can’t help but catch a smile as I pass by in my truck
and I hear her mutter what a waste, what a waste, what a waste.
It’s a funny place we’re living in,
where we complain about the waste of things that, left to our own, we would wipe our asses with.

And I hope someday I have some little house that little kids could throw stuff at
but I won’t take it down, no I’ll leave it up there in the tree and go on vacation.
And when I get home from vacation I’ll go up there in the tree and spray a preservative on the stuff to keep it from biodegrading and the years will pass, the rain will fall, and the stuff will get all sticky and weird and start growing spores.

And that way, when that kids walking his kids to school, he can look up at my tree and remember “I was gonna be a pitcher for the Socks. You coulda asked anybody on this block, I was gonna be... Nobody could steal away home so relatively undetectably.”

There is no time at all,
they just put a clock on the wall.
And it make you think you’re running late,
when really you, are doing great.
You’re where you’re supposed to be,
otherwise you’d be someplace else.

Lyrics submitted by cheekoli

The Toilet Paper Song song meanings
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