Most of the rumours about me are true,
And not all of them are glamorous.
They don't embellish my resume,
Or make me more amorous.
Bits and pieces of history,
Wrapped up in little enigmas.
That follow me around,
Enough to create a stigma.
They sometimes can be bothersome,
Other times down right fun.
Often they can open up doors,
Or put me on the run.
I'm not quick to take offense,
Or easy to embarrass.
My ego usually stays in check,
But it doesn't mind the caress.
Things are said and stories are told,
Facts will go and facts will come.
Most of the rumours about me are true,
I know, cause I started 'em.
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