Words and Music by Dennis Livingston When the clock strikes twelve, the last dance is over and your gown begins to change. As you scurry down the stairs to the coach and four feeling suddenly disarranged.   It's back to the hearth, to the cleaning and the sweeping, to the sewing and the mending and the neverending weeping and your heart is palpatating with the waiting... and the waiting... and the waiting. Hey, little girl, sittin' by the fireplace, hopin' for the phone to ring. It's your Fairy Godmother with bad news for you, Mister Prince ain't comin' 'round for one more fling, uh uh, Mister Prince ain't comin' 'round for one more fling. It's a waste of time to feel sorry for yourself, no use clingin' tight to someone else's throne. It's more than likely you'd end up another palace drone. You got to GET OUT ON YOUR OWN.   Well you could certainly write your memoirs, call them "Up From The Ashes." You could open up a fashion shop, sell bright, red sashes. You could even join a pirate ship and hand out twenty lashes, as long as you GET OUT ON YOUR OWN.   Or you could take that awful cat for spaying to the handsome vet. You could dash off a score for one of those operas at the Met. You could even put a home page on the Internet, as long as you GET OUT ON YOUR OWN. This may come as a shock, but here's some advice. People find it rather strange to see ya talkin' to mice. As for kissin' little froggy in a pond, it's a better bet to put your faith in bonds, oh yeah. It's a better bet to put your faith in bonds. It's a waste of time to feel sorry for yourself, you're a bit too old to need a chaperone. I rather doubt you'd like a life of serving tea with scones. Just GET OUT ON YOUR OWN, uh huh, just GET OUT ON YOUR OWN.   Well, you could always start a union for folks in domestic work. You could introduce your step-sisters to rich young jerks. You could even go to business school, learn how to grab those perks, as long as you GET OUT ON YOUR OWN.   You could trade in that old broom for a couple of power suits. You could take up genealogy, go searchin' for your roots. You could become a plastic surgeon, makin' noses look cute, as long as you GET OUT ON YOUR OWN. Enough of feelin' unappreciated, boo, hoo, hoo. Don't even stop to think of droppin' off the other shoe. Find an agent, go on talk shows, grab the nearest microphone. You got to get out, got to get out, got to get out... on your own.     © 1997 by Hallmark Music Co.    Back to previous page Back to SONGS main page