Seeing the way your thighs press together,
in your high school skirt, you are laughing,
watching your hands kick around in your hair
I can’t help but think that I’m the mailman, the mailman,
I’ve got this letter, I’ve got to slide it through your thighs,
I can’t help but think that I’m the mailman, the mailman,
and I’m sorry, miss, I apologize.
When I approach you in my blue suit, the letter in my hands,
with this letter, I got to slide it through your thighs,
but the slot is too tight, too tight,
let me get some oil and try again.
I can’t help but think that I’m the mailman, the mailman,
I’ve got this letter, I’ve got to slide it through your thighs,
I can’t help but think that I’m the mailman, the mailman,
and I’m sorry, miss, I apologize.
But the letter goes limp in my hands,
and I wake up in my bed
wondering if, somehow, some word or line got through,
from this sticky man out to you.
I can’t help but think that I’m the mailman, the mailman,
I’ve got this letter, I’ve got to slide it through your thighs,
I can’t help but think that I’m the mailman, the mailman,
and I’m sorry, miss, I apologize.