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THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT : THE ANTHOLOGY

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

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The smoke cloud billows out his mouth
Like a freight train through a small town
The jokes that he told across the bar
Were revolting and far too loud
They shake their heads saying, "God help her"
When I tell them he's my man
But your good lord doesn't need to lift a finger
I can fix him, no, really I can
And only I can
The dopamine races through his brain
On a six lane Texas highway
His hands, so calloused from his pistol
Softly traces hearts on my face
And I could see it from a mile away
A perfect case for my certain skillset
He had a halo of the highest grade
He just hadn't met me yet
They shake their heads saying, "God help her"
When I tell them he's my man
But your good lord doesn't need to lift a finger
I can fix him, no, really, I can
And only I can
Good boy, that's right
Come close, I'll show you heaven
If you'll be an angel, all mine
Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man
No, really I can
They shook their heads saying, "God help her"
When I tell them he's my man
(I told them he's my man)
But your good lord didn't need to lift a finger
I can fix him, no, really I can
(no, really I can)
Whoa, maybe I can't