© 2012 Oliver John-Rodgers (OJR) 


Babe, I do like you

But not your ‘O’ name

She might’ve spoke different

But swooned the same

You pretty little thing

In a pretty white blouse

Sit by me here

On Giullian’s couch

I hear my eyes are redder

Than my empty pack of fags

You pull out some drops 

From your leather black bag

And you fix me up right

With one good motion

It might be the whiskey

But god I’m hopin’

It’s your Scottish potion

Or the smell of your lotion

And if I sound precocious

It’s ‘cause I already know it

That we will hold hands 

’Til we drift to the ocean

And then it’ll get too rough

And soon we’ll stop floating


Now that pack of cowboy killers

Is nailed to my wall

With the first girl’s number

I’ve gotten since fall

When I met Amanda Ann

And we went back to my hall

And I asked if it were fine 

If we didn’t do it all

Just to lie down and kiss

With our fresh coffee lips

‘Fore she left on the phone

Told her friend I’m a kid

‘Cause I’d rather hear her talk

About her time in Madrid

Than hear her fake a scream

As if I’ve pleased her id


Now I don’t know shit

About feeling adequate

Just thought I should say it

Before you commit

‘Cause what’s snug right now

Next year might not fit

But if you’re fine with that

Then let’s do this


I only go to work

Just to be near you

You never make me work

To say the things I do

Like “I’d love another heart

How I wish that I had two

I just think that it’d be nice

To have one more for you"