BY EDWARD DANIELS
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.