My lady and I take off from work, and we’re one happy pair—
Pimping our truck for the county fair.
She wears extra large running shorts ’cause the elastic waist
Lets her belly spread with all she tastes.
Her bleached hair’s sprayed and standing tall; she sports a tight tank top
(With a ketchup stain from the I-Hop).
My fair lady’s got a tattoo, stars and bars above her hip;
She lets me kiss her with Skoal in my lip.
On her flat feet she wears flip-flops; on rides, they’re in her hand,
They smell like her and parking lot sand.
My fair lady knocks down tin cans, whacks moles, and throws quarters on a dish
’till she wins herself a bagged goldfish.
She’ll eat corndogs, and gyros, a fried meatball on a stick,
Then fried snickers—and never get sick.
And my fair lady, I tell you, she ain’t never too full
To gyrate on the mechanical bull.
She plays Bingo to cool down. My lady ain’t no dunce.
She can play three or four cards at onct.
Don’t never miss a single call. When she covers a row,
She shakes the world when she booms, “Bingo!”
She just loves them wacked-out sideshows: idjit boy covered in hair,
Tiny woman, five-legged mare.
She’ll whoop at the piggy races, then pet on a llama,
Feed a cub milk like she’s its mama.
And when the day turns into night, she slips gin in her snowcone.
Snaps glow necklaces and puts ’em on.
She covers herself in rings like Saturn—that or a bobcat’s tail.
She glows like the dadburn Holy Grail.
As we sway in the evening breeze atop the Ferris Wheel,
My fair lady lets me cop a feel.
But we had to leave early from the fairgrounds late last night
‘cause my fair lady got in a fight.
A woman in line smiled at me, so my lady grabbed her.
If she’d had a knife, would have stabbed her.
They kicked my lady outa the fair,
But can’t nobody take the fair outa my lady.