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Now she know the oldest story toldAll that glitters isn't goldIt's just a shimmering paint on a cast iron sainta god's honest face on a nine-timing fakea cold wind blows yo the sleeves of her coatAs she climbs aboard another Trailways busfilled with the lost and the nutsAnother 6am plane salesman leering her wayWon't you send her her favorite skirtwon't you send her her favorite shirtIt's just she left all her clothes in a box by the stovewhere the mutt used to lay after drinking all daynow she knows the oldest story toldAll that glitters isn't goldIt's just a shimmering paint on a cast iron saintA scotch sucking brute in a Brooks Brothers suitShe got a knife in her pursemaybe something worseshe better get while she canshe's gonna kill that mancause now she knows From Letras Mania