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?