Lyrics:

This is not a good day to call me because I cannot spare some sympathy.
My own feeling is mostly unclear, and when I'm talking to you, I'm not here.
I don't think I'll ever be ready for you, but I'll be trying to help you out, too.
So I went downstairs for a walk, but I had no strength; did not talk...

Yes, you are the flatulent one, and I am the bore who has a gun.
You ran into me with such force, now all I can be is Buddy Bradley.

And all of her friends have been approved by them, and all I can hear is people singing,
Now two of a kind has come across my mind, where 'forever more' is painted on her door.
Just cancel the Sunday salon and bury the gravedigger's son...
No money could last for too long; nobody could pay for this song...

And all of her friends have been approved by them, and all I can hear is people singing,
Now two of a kind has come across my mind, where 'forever more' is painted on her door.
Yes, you are the flatulent one, and I am the bore who has a gun.
You ran into me with such force, now all I can be is Buddy Bradley.