Scuttle Butt

She’s always ready for the worst of news
And she’s hoping it may be you
She knows all the scuttlebutt about the whatnot
That she doesn’t want forgot
Rumor is a wind that blows so smart
It doesn’t even know who you are
She’s standing there waiting at the top of the stairs
With her eyes fixed on you like glue
Where are you going now and where have you been?
What is your latest sin?
She’s into the big time; she reads the National Enquirer
She stretches the truth with such imagination
She’s more of a writer than a liar