Preschool Days

One, two, three, four. Count ninety-six more. And then come and find me, 'cause I'm hiding, baby. Not in the closet or the door. Down in the playroom where we used to play Soccer and I'd grease the floor With Lysol and love. Right now, gotta get something straight. I can count backwards and make the grades. I will let you carry my books through those Preschool days. Try to tag me in the laundry chute where I'd grab your arm and come crashing down like BMX Racers over double jumps. Those sentimental days, plotting all the ways. Throwing snowballs at innocent passing cars. The last laugh was never ours. Right now, gotta get something straight. I can count backwards and make the grades. I will let you carry my books through those Preschool days. Right now, gotta get something straight. I can count backwards and make the grades. I will let you carry my books through those Preschool days. And I remember playing games, walking on bar stools With alias names and holding our breath before a Fiery toxic death, baby. And I would always set my sister straight. Trash the dollhouse with IT-88. My Han Solo in his Hoth battle gear clothes. Right now, gotta get something straight. I can count backwards and make the grades. I will let you carry my books through those Preschool days. Right now, gotta get something straight. I can count backwards and make the grades. I will let you carry my books through those Preschool days.