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Torres
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Tongue Slap Your Brains Out
Knowing you were laundry-folding just outside the bedroom door, I slept near it Knowing you would carry half the hapless buzzing of my dilated spirit
I know you never dreamed I'd become a damn Yankee I need you to believe that I'm still your same baby
No feeling like finding a peach cobbler sunning belly-up on the granite The kind that'll make your tongue slap all your brains out
I know you never dreamed I'd become a damn Yankee I need you to believe that I'm still your same baby I know you never dreamed I'd become a damn Yankee If you could only see, it's still the Georgia winds that move me
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