the music ad read "wanted: a good-looking girl to kick around, bass playing a plus"
but she auditioned in t-shirt that read
"ignore me at your peril", so soon she was driving the bus
somehow I got on her mailing list
so I go out and see her play whenever I can

she fills the club with estrogen
and the women all nod, but I don't get it
so I keep going back, 'cause I want to understand

she doesn't write songs for guys
but she jumps in my head and crawls around, 'round, 'round

I know a lot of really great women
brilliant and witty, full of talent and passion
but when she straps on that Fender Precision
she lays down a fog of enigmas and questions

I don't think that she is mad at the world
or that somebody hurt her in unspeakable ways
her boyfriend's a graphic designer, so she's not a man-hater
I've met him, he's okay

she plays a lot in Boston
I guess they like her in Boston
but that's no big deal
they'll like anything in Boston

she fills the club with estrogen...

she doesn't write songs for guys
her words are like walls, keeping us outside
she's got a lot of wisdom, but it's very well disguised
or it's none of my business, or maybe she declines
to air a private conversation that he will not compromise

she doesn't write songs for guys
but she scratches my head from the inside