Me, about to hang
They told me I looked like an old hippie get-up. I told them that three year old they were sending me off to would never appreciate my mod-ish charm. I forged my own way, my own pattern, and no one can say I'm a suit.
They compared me to my mother, crooked and wrinkled. An old, tired style. I tried to show them how she got straightened out. She sure got the iron hard.
I said, "Look at me from the inside! I can be beautiful and pressed! I can stretch to accommodate the biggest of heads, even yours!"
But words will never work for a yuppie, friends.
I'll spend my time behind bars.