With every tick of the clock,
everyday I pull on a sock,
Time is expiring,
on this life requiring.
But
I desire to live on through,
the clock of coukoo.

Cuckoo, cuckoo,
what's a man to do?
I'm no bird in a clock,
I'm a man wearing a sock.
Glad it's two,
in this world of cuckoo.

I have two good legs to run,
when I don't have my gun.
But I'm not into running,
so I guess I'll be gunning.
I fit the macho man,
sometimes a stupid plan.

Macho macho man,
hard to back down,
so I take a stand.
After standing all day,
I'm ready to play.
The hell with macho,
when there's cheese and nacho.

Still the clock ticks,
oh the games people play,
bring on the tricks.
What's up next silly wabbit,
a booger picking habit?
Maybe hitting my pockets,
or shooting off my rockets.

But time passes,
life deals its painful classes.
Macho falls second place,
common sense falls ace.
As life deals its cards,
there seems to be
a fool dealing hearts.

But

Nothing stops time,
we live longer without crime,
so I move away from the slime.
Still the cuckoo koos
and I pay my dues.
But
they're not enough,
so I still hang tough.

One