| I run my fingers through her blackish, blondish hair
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| Look into her brown, blue eyes and touch her skin so dark and fair
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| Because I like how she encourages and scolds me
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| How even as her left hand pushes me away her right arm holds me
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| It’s nice to know she’s always waiting for me at the dead ends
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| Guess I need a little love from every little square
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| Of my sweet little patchwork girlfriend
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| Of my sweet little patchwork girlfriend
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| I can’t tell if she would rather take or leave me
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| And I’m not sure what I’m saying but I’m sure I want her to believe me
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| So I run my fingers through her blackish, blondish, brownish, reddish grayish
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| (Grayish?) hair
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| And tell her I won’t mess around with other girls unless they’re her
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| It’s nice to know she’s always waiting for me at the dead ends
|
| Guess I need a little love from every little square
|
| Of my sweet little patchwork girlfriend
|
| Of my sweet little patchwork girlfriend
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| Though I’m no more boy scout than boyfriend
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| I could see tying the knot
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| Instead, it’s my hands that are tied
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| Because that’d be against the law, even in Utah
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| It’s nice to know she’s always waiting for me at the dead ends
|
| Guess I need a little love from every little square
|
| Of my sweet little patchwork girlfriend
|
| She’s anywhere I could ever go, ain’t no false start or dead end
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| That could take me away from, couldn’t bring me back to
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| My sweet little patchwork girlfriend
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| Oh, my bitter big patchwork girlfriend
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| Oh, my sweet little patchwork girlfriend |