When I'm Wrong...I'm Really Wrong

So when I put the kids to bed tonight, Frank asked me to sing "the spoiled baby song."  I immediately launched into Robyn Hitchcock's "Uncorrected Personality Traits", at this point in the lyrics:

                   The spoiled baby grows into

                   the escapist teenager who's

                   the adult alcoholic who's

                   the middle-aged suicide.  Oy!

Frank laughed a little and said, "Umm.  What?"  Turns out he was just making a joke about "Hush, Little Baby."

Whoops.