lyrics
This was not the fairytale dream,
reality it seems has just fallen into place.
You don't choose who you love,
no you don't choose who you love,
and you can't change your blood.
Stepmother, likes to wear the trousers,
Stepmother, she's the maker of houses,
Stepmother, but the wrecker of the home.
Well there's nothing you can say,
she'll still be in a rotten way,
poor stepmother, the wrecker of the home.
Stepmother, father, sister, brother, stepbrother, wife, stepsister, mother, husband. It's a minefield of emotions, testing devotions.
Well "you're not my mum" the rotten cherubs blurt, well you know they say that the truth does hurt, well, the truth does hurt.
Stepmother, likes to wear the trousers,
Stepmother, she's the maker of houses,
Stepmother, but the wrecker of the home.
Well there's nothing you can say,
she'll still be feeling out of place,
poor stepmother, the wrecker of the home.
On that Autumn day, as family gathered round,
and Grandma looked so proud.
There was never any doubt,
but love is not without unwanted ups and downs.
You cannot be to blame, for life is short,
and no one lives for pain,
no, no one lives for pain,
no, no one lives for pain.
Stepmother, likes to wear the trousers,
Stepmother, she's the maker of houses,
Stepmother, but the wrecker of the home.
Stepmother, likes to wear the trousers,
Stepmother, none of them fancy blouses,
Stepmother, she has to wear the trousers.
Well there's nothing you can say,
she'll still be in a rotten way,
poor stepmother, the wrecker of the home.
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