She can make you feel like filth She can make you feel like a star She will scratch till her hand is bloody But she'll love you more for the scar She remembers the recent past She's something the cat dragged in She's a trollop in paisley, so, (C): Take her down to the woods where the wolfboy lives, So the villagers say, And the three of you evaporate into the night Till you both fall in love with him With a face like an African mask And the strength of ten men When she's wrong She's in charge in the world at large And her novels are all very long She belongs on the astral plane She's probably a hologram Put her back in the padded cell So you'll dress head to foot in lame And you'll dance in December snow When the sky turns to wine you'll embrace And forget everything that you know She can tell you the will of the gods Butter won't melt in her mouth, but you will Don't bother to ask her name
