Bless the coffee that passes between her lips, ‘cause the caffine
gives the woman a nervous twitch. When she crossed those big
white thighs, what I saw could hardly have been intended.And her
skirted suit it implies to me, She should not chastise so
calously, As the woman who shared my bed and wiped my brow for
the past three years. And my true love don’t drink her coffeee
like her, Don’t wear lipstick like her, My true love, she is
cursed. And my true love don’t swing her hips like her, Not got
those sassy curls, My true love, she is cursed. Hope the morning
coffee does the trick, Hope it clears my mind makes the day more
worth it, Cause the devil in me and the deep blue sea are
entwined as on since that girlwinked at me.