Terry, won't you tell me what is your real name?
I'd like for it to be Theresa, just like my favorite saint
I doubt you grew up catholic, or no longer are at least
But the way you ask your questions, you oughta be a priest

I never read the headlines, but always read the bylines
Because it's not what you know, it's who told you so

Maureen, you might blush if I tell a dirty joke
But I bet you like martinis and an after-dinner smoke
I know your mother's letters made men second-guess
If those with most conviction were endowed with righteousness

Amanda, I know you're picky and probably a little prude
But I don't want to sleep with you, I just want to try your food
So won't you make us supper and pour a cup of wine?
I've heard about your husband, and I don't want to meet him this time


Lyrics submitted by Rube

Headlines song meanings
Add your thoughts

No Comments

sort form View by:
  • No Comments

Add your thoughts

Log in now to tell us what you think this song means.

Don’t have an account? Create an account with SongMeanings to post comments, submit lyrics, and more. It’s super easy, we promise!

Back to top
explain