Lover come home for I ache and I moan.
It's not fair that I lay here alone.
Your dinner's gone cold.
You've spent all your gold with no ace in your cards. You must fold.
Come lay in the garden, live easy and free.
The good life is waiting, there's fruit on my tree.
Taste and see.
Lover come home for I ache and I moan.
It's not fair that I lay here alone.
(Second Verse)
Your mother worries that we need to hurry, this body is not staying young.
There are other suitors, some young and some cuter, and they say that you're not coming back.
So come lay in my garden, live easy and free.
For the good life is waiting, there's fruit on my tree.
Taste and see.
'Cause your mother worries, that we need to hurry. This body is not staying young.
(Final verse)
Now I'll say it again, but my patience run thin, if you don't bring your a** back here soon.
Your vagabond shoes are only fit for your blues, and you'll probably die sad and alone.
With no garden, no children and no touching me.
No good life is waiting, no fruit from my tree.
Don't taste and see.
Now my patience run thin, but I'll say it again, if you don't bring your a** back here soon.
Your vagabond shoes are only fit for your blues, you'll probably die sad and alone.
You'll probably die sad and alone.
I hope you die sad and alone.
It's not fair that I lay here alone.
Your dinner's gone cold.
You've spent all your gold with no ace in your cards. You must fold.
Come lay in the garden, live easy and free.
The good life is waiting, there's fruit on my tree.
Taste and see.
Lover come home for I ache and I moan.
It's not fair that I lay here alone.
(Second Verse)
Your mother worries that we need to hurry, this body is not staying young.
There are other suitors, some young and some cuter, and they say that you're not coming back.
So come lay in my garden, live easy and free.
For the good life is waiting, there's fruit on my tree.
Taste and see.
'Cause your mother worries, that we need to hurry. This body is not staying young.
(Final verse)
Now I'll say it again, but my patience run thin, if you don't bring your a** back here soon.
Your vagabond shoes are only fit for your blues, and you'll probably die sad and alone.
With no garden, no children and no touching me.
No good life is waiting, no fruit from my tree.
Don't taste and see.
Now my patience run thin, but I'll say it again, if you don't bring your a** back here soon.
Your vagabond shoes are only fit for your blues, you'll probably die sad and alone.
You'll probably die sad and alone.
I hope you die sad and alone.