The Messenger
Tim Wheatley
She was hotter than the georgia asphalt
Now her hearts gone cold for me
I used to take the short cut home
Now I play til the last man leaves
Please don’t shoot the messenger
Don’t you know I come in peace
In an orgy of exaggeration
I always seem to give as good as I get
Form and credence to my agitation
Like a bindi in my foot again
Please don’t shoot the messenger
Don’t you know I come in peace
Please don’t shoot the messenger
But you blew him to smithereens
The woman what done it is too far gone
She and I pass like ship in the night from now on
I took a little trip to bring me back somehow
I sent you a postcard, signed san francisco by now
Please don’t shoot the messenger
Don’t you know I come in peace
Please don’t shoot the messenger
But you blew him to smithereens