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I’m just a shy man, with a presence undetectable
I come from a long line of robbers (but we’re really quite respectable)
I don’t know how to dance and I’m not good with the speak
I’m almost a gentleman, with a magpie’s mystique
I can’t take another night of “Dutch consolation”
How about a lick, a promise, and some criminal conversation?
You better act fast now, the cat’s out of the bag
I’m The Last of the Rag-Tag Lovers
A month of Sundays must’ve gone by
A month of dumb days of living this old lie
Tell me that you love, tell me you do
Tell me you love me, even if it’s not true
I can’t take another night of being alone
With a hundred lousy channels and this damn telephone
So you better act fast now, the cat’s out of the bag
I’m The Last of the Rag-Tag Lovers
You try to tell me that I’m just not your type
I may be motley, but don’t call me unkempt
You’ve got one last attempt
It’s time to start believing the hype:
The cat’s out of the bag
I’m The Last of the Rag-Tag Lovers
I’m here to tell you that everything will work out right
I’m here to tell you so let’s stop the chin-wag
Just throw the white flag
It’s time that you give up the fight
Right now I could use a shove
I'm trying to write these fragments of a discourse on love
I’m patchwork and promiscuous, I’m not state-of-the-art
You can take me all at once, or take me à la carte
I may be misfit manna from heaven
But baby, I’ll be yours twenty-four seven
So you better act fast now, the cat’s out of the bag
I’m The Last of the Rag-Tag Lovers
You better act fast now, the cat’s out of the bag
I’m The Last of the Rag-Tag Lovers
You better act fast now, the cat’s out of the bag
I’m The Last of the Rag-Tag Lovers
Robert Morris Black © All rights reserved.