I Blame the Dutch (mpoetess) wrote,
I Blame the Dutch
mpoetess

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Not a meme

But since yesterday was poetry, thought I'd go for song lyrics today.



He Wrote Too Many Songs About His Girlfriend
by Nancy White

(transcibed from memory, since I can't find my bleedin' MP3, so anyone who actually knows the song may feel free to point out where I've screwed up the words or left out a verse.)


He wrote too many songs about his girlfriend;
Took notes on every clever word she said.
People loved the one about her famous temper;
They loved to hear the things she did in bed.
Sometimes he'd disguise her just a little,
Give her eyes of brown or dimpled knees,
But everybody knew who he was getting at -
Knew she wasn't really Japanese, not Japanese,
She'd say please...

Leave me out of the music,
Get me out of that song.
You've got a quirky repertoire, baby,
Where I do not belong,
And if you've got a bone to pick, my sweet thing,
Pick it privately.
Don't tell the world how your heart pounds--
Just tell me.

He wrote too many songs about his girlfriend;
She hated being publicised that way.
And more and more and more she felt self-conscious
And when he went to play, she stayed away.
The audience adored him for his candor,
Bought him drinks and asked for more and more,
And he'd look up to see his muse arising
And walking out the door -
He knew what for -
She'd be screaming...

Leave me out of the music,
Get me out of that song.
You've got a quirky repertoire, baby,
Where I do not belong,
And if you've got a bone to pick, my sweet thing,
Pick it privately.
Don't tell the world how your heart pounds--
Just tell me.

He wrote too many songs about his girlfriend;
He loved her, and his listeners did too.
Occasionally a customer would ask her for a date -
They felt she was a woman that they already knew.
Finally she left him for another,
Who didn't speak her language quite as well,
And if he can't appreciate her secrets quite as much,
At least he doesn't tell,
It suits her well,
She's not begging anymore...

Leave me out of the music,
Get me out of that song.
You've got a quirky repertoire, baby,
Where I do not belong,
And if you've got a bone to pick, my sweet thing,
Pick it privately.
Don't tell the world how your heart pounds--
Just tell me.
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