| She can see about four satellites every minute of the hour
|
| And find a four leaf clover where you never saw a flower
|
| She’s habitually paradoxical, a parallel perpendicular
|
| Barefoot in nightgowns, that’s how she dances in the rain
|
| Sundown to sundown, like she was washing 'way her pain
|
| As she is beautiful, she’s unpredictable
|
| Damned irresistible, is it plausible to hate her
|
| She is my common sense, revels on decadence
|
| But what’s the difference, it’s impossible to bait her
|
| She can really be a handful like the brownies that she bakes you
|
| It can be a tad hysterical, but never quite the breakthrough
|
| She’s some kind of an epitome, the sea of intranquility
|
| In flimsy nightgowns, barefoot she dances in the rain
|
| Sundown to sundown, like she was washing 'way her pain
|
| As she is beautiful, she’s unpredictable
|
| Damned irresistible, is it plausible to hate her
|
| She is my common sense, revels on decadence
|
| But what’s the difference, it’s an impossible debate |