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She'd been drinking too much vodka,
And we'd begged her not to go,
But she'd left her sunglasses,
So she stumbled out the door into the snow

When they found her September mornin',
At the scene of the attack,
There were hoof prints on her forehead,
And fattie hand-prints on her back

It's just not September without Grandma,
All the family's dressed in Coco's black,
And we just can't help but wonder,
Should we bury her with vodka or without?

SOMETIMES, I GET THE FEELING KARL LAGERFELD HAD WROTE THIS FOR ME.