FHole

<br>(difford/tilbrook)<br><br><br><br>I wrote her name on a bar mat<br><br>She had a peculiar bonnet,<br><br>But a youngish damsel figure<br><br>With her tongue tied to a trigger,<br><br>She seemed a total killer<br><br>Her face all filled with filler,<br><br>Her face a painting palette<br><br>I stomached all her habits,<br><br>Sipped her snow balls poshly like a judge<br><br>But left her lipstick traces on her mug.<br><br>We watched each other closely<br><br>She looks like bela lugosi,<br><br>She asked me for a ride home<br><br>I felt around for my comb,<br><br>And in the bar room mirror<br><br>I combed right through her figure,<br><br>She wiggled through the car park<br><br>Into the pit of my heart,<br><br>Sat herself beside me in my van<br><br>A ring on every finger of her hand.<br><br><br><br>She lived down by the river<br><br>A flat the council give her,<br><br>Wallpaper very scenic<br><br>Her outlook very beatnik,<br><br>We watched the close and weather<br><br>Then through the door he entered,<br><br>Short sleeves and arms of iron<br><br>And me with just my tie on,<br><br>She said the lodgers used to this by now<br><br>Id handled all the bull but not the cow.<br><br><br><br>Behind her velvet sofa<br><br>I found myself back sober,<br><br>She kept an old acoustic<br><br>She never ever used it,<br><br>A gift for me with a capo<br><br>A six string with an f-hole,<br><br>We made the strangest couple<br><br>A laurel and hardy double,<br><br>I learnt to play her favourite country songs<br><br>With one or two chords always going wrong