Robert Francis Where You Came From
Sugar on the highway, something ‘bout the way she moved made it worth my staying there. I might have been a bit abused.
Man she was a sweet machine. Coffee smokes out on my jeans.
Slid across the bed like gasoline. Burned right, never kept it clean.
Not a girl in the city reminds me of you. Not a girl in the city reminds me of you. Not a girl in the city reminds me that you go home, all alone.
And no one knows where you came from.
