A Hymn for the Coffee

Bless the coffee that passes between her lips, 'cause the caffeine
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 callously, as the
woman who shared my bed and wiped my brow for the past three
years.

And my true love don't drink her coffee 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 girl winked at me.