Blah Blah Lyrics

It always happens in coffee shops

And I'm always hungover when someone wants to talk

And don't get me wrong, I like talking when it's a
healthy back-and-forth exchange

But some people always wanna lecture me and try to make
me change

He says 'You are a mystery, aren't you'

And considering he hasn't shut up long enough for me to
string two words together

Yes that's me, Miss Mystery

And he's quiet for a time

And I think that might be a good sign

Til there's a glint in his eye and I realise he's just
making more sentences in his mind

And here it comes, and there's nothing I can do

I take a sip, I take a breath

He licks his lips and he's opening his mouth, and it's:

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

blah blah dog diggity blah

Like a steamtrain

Like an onslaught

Like a machine gun loaded with your opinions but it's
incoherent ammunition and your words aren't very
wounding weapons when they're inflicted on me

And I know you mean well

With your deep wells of advice

And your buckets of swelled self-righteousness

Hell, you're just trying to be nice

And you're nice, but you state your views like they are
facts of life

And I hate that, and I tell you And I brace myself for the reply, it's gonna be:

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

blah blah dog diggity blah

He says, 'You never were much of a talker'

Well this isn't talking

This is being cornered

I'm being cornered by you

And I can't get away

From this table for two

in the corner of this bright corner café

And didn't we have this same conversation last week?

It's not that I don't like you - I just wish you
wouldn't speak:

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

blah blah dog diggity blah

I see he's made a list

Of pressing topics of discussion

Competing with the clanking coffee cup percussion

And I guess we'll start with number one

On the first A4 page

Past the setting of the sun

And the pouring of the lattes

And here it comes, it's coming and there's nothing
anyone can do

I take a sip

I grip the chair

He opens his big, wet slippery mouth:

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

blah blah dog diggity blah

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