Verse 1 Now my wife calls 'em obscene, and she ain’t wrong, Them stretch pants shoutin’ secrets all day long. She said, “Don’t you look!” ... but I already did, 'Cause them britches don’t cover much more than a fig. I think they’re called Lularoo? "Lula-what?" Like pantyhose with a built-in butt rut. You can see everything goin’ on down there ... And sometimes you wish… you hadn’t dared. Chorus Painted-on britches, leavin' nothin' to guess, I seen a mall-walker swingin' more - God Bless! From the farmer’s market to the Piggly Wiggly, I’m prayin’ to God, “Please make that less jiggly!” Some sights I’ll remember, some I hope to forget ... Painted-on britches… it's a visual threat. [Interlude] Verse 2 Now on some gals, yeah, they’re a marvel of design, You’ll catch me starin’ like a deer in brine. But life ain't filtered, and neither is Walmart .... I saw a pair o’ britches lookin’ more like modern art. She was bicyclin’ uphill, in a headwind too, That spandex strainin’ like a ten-year shoe. I said “Lord forgive me,” but I watched that climb ... Then my retinas screamed “We’re outta time!” Chorus Painted-on britches, God bless the brave, But I don’t need to know how deep that wave. They're cuttin’ off blood flow in aisle thirteen, While junior grabs cookies from a cart in between. It’s a circus of cotton, nylon, and fright ... Painted-on britches… I can't unsee that sight. Bridge (Talkin’, bluesy drawl) Now I ain't judgin’ ... I’m no model too, But if I wore those pants, I'd be arrested on cue. Let’s just say there’s a size limit for stretch, When it looks like a banana sack fallin’ off the ledge. Final Chorus (full band swingin’) Painted-on britches, risin’ up like bread, Poppin’ seams like fireworks .... you heard what I said. You bend too far, and it’s TMI day, The kids run screamin’ down Chick-fil-A. So bless your heart, wear what ya please ... But some britches just shouldn't squeeze.
