The Columbia Girl
I love the way you hold yourself
When you're holding your banjo
I love the way you hold your banjo
Cradled between your legs

Resting in the crotch of the dress
That you did handmake
I love the fact that your dress used to hang
As the curtain for our kitchen window

I don't love the way you took two of my shirts
After I asked you to rid the stains
You cut and sewed, you restitched
As I hemmed and I hawed

You used to go into our kitchen
And scrub your teeth in the sink
You claimed the kitchen is too bright
And now your breath stinks

I love the scratching that your dress makes
As it rubs against the back of your banjo
It sounds like one of them hip-hop songs, Kool Moe Dee or Humpty
If I could pull it off, I might say "Girl, get jiggy with me"
I love the way that your breasts bounce
Across the top of your banjo
Beating out of rhythm and coupled so perfectly
With your foul-mouthed song
Your complicated rhythm
Would make Keith Moon tap along

I would love to rest my head
Where your banjo's head does lay
Our kitchen's window faces south
So your tang keeps me at bay

You said "Love, come out of the kitchen
And sing this one with me"
I gargle and mumble a wet reply
As I spit into the sink
Your dress blocks out all the light
Your skin's turned as white as my teeth

I love the way you turn your head when you sing to me
Considerate and conscious of how much our love does mean
I love the way your songs don't stink
Anywhere near your teeth