Text: Shivaree. I Oughtta Give You A Shot In The Head For Making Me Live In This Dump. Arrivederci.

Arrivederci I'm cutting my hair
Tell fish and Tracy the weathers fair
Been eleven hours were on a dare
Arrivederci to my old chair
I've been told that the old who bargain and save
They get sold
For the gold
On the little kings grave
So goodbye to screamers
And goodnight Irene
A salty whisker won't hurt anything