Years from now
They will make water
From the reservoirs
Of our idiot tempers
Soon enough
Work and love will make a man out of you
Through and through

Your gentleman father
Would pray for a daughter
As he walked
From room to room
Saying "Women are winning
The tournament of hearts
Somebody's got to lose"
Soon enough
Work and love will make a man out of you
Through and through
Through and through