I got about a half a high, so I spent the whole weekend outI came home Monday morning, tore up like a can of krautMy only suit was laying on stepsI picked it up and run, and I ain't been back home sinceMad, yeah, she's madIt's back to the doghouse and old from the practice I've hadOh, and she's madI play a dangerous gameAnd the obituary column have already printed my nameShe's five foot three and weighs about a hundred and eightShe's five foot three and weighs about a hundred and eightShe's the kind of gal don't believe in men are making mistakesShe's sweet and mighty niceBut when she's mad, she's got a voice that'll cut through iceMad, yeah, she's madIt's back to the doghouse and old from the practice I've hadOh, and she's madI play a dangerous gameAnd the obituary column have already printed my nameShe's got eyes like a cat and she watches every move that I makeAnd an alarm clock mine that goes a-ringing every time I'm lateI'm sorry, sitting all aloneBut I'll have to stick it out cause it just ain't safe to go homeMad, yeah, she's madIt's back to the doghouse and old from the practice I've hadOh, and she's madI play a dangerous gameAnd the obituary column have already printed my nameAnd the obituary column have already printed my nameAnd the obituary column have already printed my name