You're not a number nine little cloud o' mine. You're blocking the sun, it's a troubling sign. I can't understand why I am at your command. If only six was nine... this ain't what I planned.
Walk the dog in a park, we did it in the dark. But was it looks like rain and the girls go away. Hanging tears out to dry, it's a tactical warning. A lot a single fair morning ever catching my eye.
refrain:
Hey hey, what I say You gotta, you gotta Hey hey, what I say You gotta gotta gotta Hey hey, what I say You gotta get away Hey hey, what I say
Gypsy maiden of the meadow painted a number on my palm, Her soft whisper caressing my ear "you'll never leave cloud nine".
I can't understand why I am at your command. If only six was nine... this ain't what I planned.
I am... a black cloud man, yeah, you work on your tan. Your jealous dedication making things worse. I can't even converse. To my frustration, The phones took a vacation. They know I'm cursed.