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letra de the little smug supper club - ted leo

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well, i heard last wednesday you didn’t even mention me
oh, i’d rather hear insulting than ignoring me intentionally
don’t you think it’s weird, don’t you see how it could hurt
to drop it like it’s hot and leave it lying in the dirt
and from the field to the chafing dish
i can’t wait to taste dessert

and all the kiddies at your table sipping vinegar from flutes
you tell them it’s champagne and then you charge them to believe you
for the sake of what they’re paying, oh, i wish that it was true
’cause i remember heady days when they were my friends, too

and if the stars are aligned, then the stars will all arrive
for your celebrated artis-n-l cuts of the cruelest kind
a loop of local origin, provincial view of urban men, and
i’ll be the lamb slaughtered at the little smug supper club

oh, all the words upon your tongue, you just gave lip service to
and all the slumming, it was nothing more than fun to you
a lot of damage i have done, but i’ve been damaged, too
and though the damage isn’t done, none of it’s done to you

at thursday morning brunch, i just sat back, amused but wounded, too
oh, embarr-ssed as i crunched upon a carrot for an amuse bouche
i never got your pretext for this whole rigmarole
and it’s insulting to the subtext when you write it out in bold
like when i caught you at my brother’s wedding
p-ssing in the punch bowl

and all the kiddies at your table wipe your curries on their shirts
and the stains will be reminders of how good it used to hurt
like a vampire’s kisses or a thanksgiving cursed
like opening up a bottle and always giving you the first

and if the stars are aligned, then the stars will all arrive
for your celebrated artis-n-l cuts of the cruelest kind
a loop of local origin, provincial view of urban men, and
i’ll be the lamb slaughtered at the little smug supper club

and if the stars are aligned, then the stars will all arrive
while you serve it up in artis-n-l cuts of the cruelest kind
a loop of local origin, provincial view of urban men, and
i’ll be the lamb slaughtered at the little smug supper club

- ted leo

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