The Pants

I sit here and wonder Do you ever take showers? It's hard to imagine You could ever smell like flowers You wear the same pants Everyday It's hard to believe You can be so naive And how can I not smell them From a mile away? It's your jeans, boy, it's your jeans I'm not talkin' 'bout your face, in any means I'm not talkin' 'bout your style I'm not talkin' 'bout your smile It's your pants, boy, can't you see? Perhaps you should buy yourself A new pair of pants Ones that don't look like They were eaten by ants I ask myself Do you have a washer at home? It's curious to me Do you live all alone? Wash them for an hour And maybe Just maybe They won't taste so sour But, think about this Maybe I have it all wrong Maybe I'm wasting my time Writing this song Maybe you just like them And wash them everyday Or maybe you just take them And give them a little air-freshener spray So tonight I will lie awake Wondering why I just don't steal those pants And burn them alive