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I saw a black girl last night called |
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Charmaine |
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ChampaignShe wasn't a worn out ex-so-and-so, no not from |
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Times Square |
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But she went to |
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Johnny Romero's till it was too hot to handle |
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And she's got nothing to show for it, no money, no love |
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But she could tell me the squarest thing on the jukebox |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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Teach me not to get baited with stage |
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Whispers like, "Can anybody turn me on?" |
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Show me how to make cups and punches |
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It's so simple without a simple syrup |
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You have to gather a quarter pound of young peach leaves |
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On a dry and sunny day |
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And the cost is so uncertain since peach leaves are seldom sold |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She likes a strong sangaree that shakes for twelve hours |
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Keeps warm for twelve months then sits for six months more |
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Then she's gonna sing me the squarest thing on the jukebox |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
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She's gonna get me folked up, fairly beat |
