Why are all the girls simpering
Over young Norman Bates?
His life comes to him
On food carts and plates

My mum would let me
Leave anytime
And not lock me up
In her dreams of lost crimes

But no, they’re for Norman
They’re aching for him
They like his strange eyes
His thick crayoned skin

They wait on the corners
They text him in town
To them he’s a curio
Not a sick clown

They sing with sympathy
And swoon in real spice
“Oh isn’t he cutesy
Incredibly nice”

Those girls thinks he’s weird
In a wholly good way
How wrong they are
What would mother say?

Plenty of time to make it
More than enough to care
Why don’t you swing by his house?
There’s always a room to spare