They call me Mr. Perfect, I'm the king of all I see.

All the girls in this whole world, they fall in love with me.

I'm the model of decorum, an example of great looks;

If you wrote down all my good points, you would have a book.

They call me Mr. Humble, and I don't like to brag,

But, anyone who isn't me, considers life a drag.

I feel for all the other guys, 'cause they're too blind to see

That God could please more women if he'd make more men like me.

I've always been a gentleman, polished and refined.

The ultimate in tastefulness, the top of the line.

Some say I can't be perfect, just credible, at best.

But hell, if I'm not perfect, I'm still better than the rest.

When I look into the mirror and I see my pretty face,

I realize I've got great eyes, not a hair out of place.

With the muscle tone of Hercules on a body thin and lean.

At times I act so saintly, they call me Mr. Clean.

Each place I go, the ladies show they long to hold me tight.

They call me Mr. Know-it-all, because I'm always right.

You can take all of hte lover boys and men of pedigree;

Put them all together, they don't come close to me.

I could go on forever, just talking 'bout myself.

I've got great rpide, I just can't hide the fact that I'm top-shelf.

After all I'm Mr. Perfect, the toast of the town,

And I don't think that anything can ever bring me down.


That's when I have to wake up, my dream just couldn't last.

I had a few too many, and my head is spinning fast.

But, if I get to thinking that my drinking makes it true,

I think I'll just get up and pour myself another brew.