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She pays no mind to methods you employ |
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She wants a big city man, not a country boy |
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Go get your long hair cut |
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Scrape the mood off your boots |
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Wash the hell behind those eyes |
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Buy yourself some tailored suits |
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Buttermilk Boy better gain some pounds |
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Before she lets her knickers down |
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She wants a musclely man all gristle and bone |
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Makes no difference how you strive |
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She couldn't care if you're dead or alive |
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A burly, beefy, strong arm man |
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Is all she cares to meet |
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Before you ever heard the word guitar |
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Your mother used to see her as a star |
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Yes, she spent her teens |
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In chauffeured limousines |
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And I heard tell you can't get insured |
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For a clapped out '45 drop head Ford |
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Buttermilk Boy better gain some pounds |
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Before she lets her knickers down |
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She wants a musclely man all gristle and bone |
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She'll tear you down like a steer comin' through |
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Like I said she ain't no use to you |
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A lumpy hairy mundaine brain |
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Is all she cares to make |
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So let me put you straight |
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Marry farm-yard Kate |
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She weights two hundred pounds it's said |
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But she'll keep you warm in bed |
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Buttermilk Boy better gain some pounds |
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Before she lets her knickers down |
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She wants a musclely man all gristle and bone |
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So you think you know where it's about |
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But she will suck you in and then she'll blow you out |
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Yes, Kate will keep you satisfied |
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Until your dying day |
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In chauffeured limousines |
