yeah you, standin in that space
leanin there in your stetson
lookin about this place
do ya think that you fit in here
why did you even stop in
to hang out with real cowgirls
to see how the other half lives
your boots are probably Manolo
must have cost you alot
look around here sweety
that’s something we ain’t got
you’re standin there against the bar
an umbrella drink in your hand
lookin at all our cowboys
listenin to our cowboy band
your hand made shirt is perfect
those jeans, are probably Prada
we’re lookin at you in our Wranglers
knowin we ain’t got nada
no one will approach you
don’t ya feel kind of strange
you ain’t got no friends here
it’s like you dropped from outer space
sure the cowboys are lookin at ya
never seen one quite like you
but they know you’ll only use em
and toss em when you’re through
do you think this is “Urban Cowboy”
and John Travolta is here
I don’t think so sweetheart
you better get on out of here
if you’re lookin for a skirt fight
I think I can help you with that
me and my friends are willin
to put you on your ass
your hair won’t look so pretty
your Dior makeup will be a mess
is that what you’re lookin for princess
yeah, I can help you with that
you’ll probably break a nail or two
before the fight is through
you’ll be lucky to crawl of here
when we are done with you
go on home to daddy
get in your porshe and drive away
I’ll forget you were even in here
just don’t come back this way
Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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