I love the way you hold yourself
When you're holding your banjo
I love the way you hold your banjo
Cradled between your legs
Resting in the crotch of the dress
That you did handmake
I love the fact that your dress used to hang
As the curtain for our kitchen window
I don't love the way you took two of my shirts
After I asked you to rid the stains
You cut and sewed, you restitched
As I hemmed and I hawed
You used to go into our kitchen
And scrub your teeth in the sink
You claimed the kitchen is too bright
And now your breath stinks
I love the scratching that your dress makes
As it rubs against the back of your banjo
It sounds like one of them hip-hop songs, Kool Moe Dee or Humpty
If I could pull it off, I might say "Girl, get jiggy with me"
I love the way that your breasts bounce
Across the top of your banjo
Beating out a rhythm that couples up perfectly
With your foul-mouthed song
Your complicated rhythm
Would make Keith Moon tap along
I would love to rest my head
Where your banjo's head does lay
Our kitchen's window faces south
So your [?] keeps me in pain
You said "Love, come out of the kitchen"
And sing this one with me
I goggled and mumbled a wet reply
As I spit into the sink
Your dress blocks out the light
Your skin's turned as white as my teeth
I love the way you turn your head when you sing to me
Consider it unconscious of how much our love does mean
I love the way your songs don't stink
Anywhere near your teeth