I love it when you call me baby,
rolling your eyes,
flutter your soft lashes,
I am away with the Swansea tides.
Hanging on, telling the boys,
to not count on my appearance at the local,
I am not at the bar,
there is no liquor involved-
when I get vocal, at how beautiful you are.
When I am drinking,
on a well worn leather sofa
and some mint blonde tries to get her hand in my thigh,
her night will be fruitless,
you are the only apple of my eye.