I can’t help it if you’ve looked like an angel
ever since you turned 18 (and just before,
too, God help me). You’re only four years younger
than me, but at 2 a.m. when I’m online,
your website makes me feel like a creep.
But I’m okay with that, I think. The problem
comes when I’m at a bar and get too drunk and
sing along to “Love Story” or that “Our Song”
song, and all my friends yell “Dude! You’re gay!”
‘cus singing teen-girl country is wrong.
But I’m okay with that, too, I guess. The real
issue to be addressed is when I’m sober
with no excuse. Today at the grocery
store I almost bought that CosmoGirl but caught
myself (I do have your Women’s Health).
Marry me, Juliet. You’ll never have to
hate my truck, I can’t drive stick (I know, fucked up).
And I don’t even like country, but you’re still
the reason for the teardrops on my laptop.
What’s Tim McGraw got that I don’t got?