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(Greg Tamblyn, Richard Helm)

I could tell that it was more that just a simple lover’s spat
When she called me compulsive, and blamed my Mom for that
I yelled I’m not the only one around here with hangups, gal
And thus began the shootout at the I’m OK, you’re OK corral

She said you’ve got the Peter Pan syndrome, you never grew up
So I said look who’s talking, a woman who loves too much
She said, how come when I need to talk you only babble
I said, how come you’re always out somewhere on the road less traveled

Ain’t no doubt about it, it was down and dirty now
Friends, it was getting nasty at the I’m OK, You’re OK Corral

I could tell that she was gonna fight me nail and tooth
When she brought up Dear Abby, and quoted Doctor Ruth
I knew that it was time to bring in my own hired guns
So I invoked the spirit of Sigmund Freud, and Carl Jung

I suggested loudly that she was anal retentive
She said that was bullshit and called me codependent
I said when I bring up my issues, you go catatonic
She said all you’ve got is issues, you’re an adult child of an alcoholic

I felt just like a mean old gunfighter chasin’ down a former pal
Friends, the hot lead was flyin’ at the I’m OK You’re OK corral

Well just when I was getting into looking out for number one
I heard my superego tell my id, this ain’t no fun
So I said let’s negotiate, before we get too beat up
If you’ll put the cap on the toothpaste, I’ll quit leaving the seat up

So then we bonded, and we knew that we were both okay somehow
And this house just wasn’t big enough for another shootout
At the I’m OK You’re OK corral

© 1989 Ramblin' Tamblyn Music, BMI
Taylor-Helm Music, BMI