Everything But the Girl
He had the charm, tattoos on each arm,
a Zapata moustache and a pony.
Skin tight blue jeans, ripped at the seams,
(that showed off his prize polony).
A stud in each ear, he wreaked of stale beer,
when he smiled he showed three teeth of gold.
His car was a Beamer, a boy racer screamer,
that had the whiff of old mold.
He smoked like a chimley, and, through a glass, dimly,
he thought that he looked quite a catch.
With his wandering eye and naked lady tie,
and lime green socks to match.
If anyone would ask, or take him to task,
his lip, to a sneer, would curl.
And, with a tear in his eye, he would wistfully ask why,
he had everything but the girl?
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