The Encore No One Asked For

I have a confession to make. I am unable to stop writing country lyrics. What started as a silly diversion has become an unpleasant compulsion, and now my apartment is littered with post-it notes upon which ludicrously bad rhymes are scrawled in my ludicrously bad handwriting. And they’re getting worse and worse. With any luck, you will never have to read “I Ain’t Your Cowboy No More”, “Got Myself A Real Nice Gun” or--worst of all--"Used To Be Her Tampon, But That Period's Over", but I do feel like I should share at least one of my recent honky-tonk works with you. Consider this a warning about the dangers of dabbling in this Satanic art or a plaintive cry for help, whichever you prefer.

So, without further ado (and with my sincerest apologies), here’s a little number I like to call “My Baby’s Got A Big Ole Cameltoe”.


Well, I’m one lucky guy
Ain’t no doubt there
Ridin’ in my truck real high
With my girl and her golden hair
Yeah, we’re gonna go
And kick up a do
With a plate of nachos
And four pitchers of brew
That’s when she hits the dancefloor
And commences to moving
Them boys all lined up out the door
Every one just a’droolin’
Because...

My baby’s got a big ole cameltoe
My baby’s got a big ole cameltoe
Sure is fine, but she’s mine
That sweet thing can’t go nowhere
Without them labia showin’

It’s like a little pocket of heaven
Scootin’ cross the room
The fellas say “Man, Kevin
My heart’s going boom boom boom”
At that chinchilla in denim
That fine-shaped groin
Ask anyone and I’ll bet ‘im.
She’s the finest girl in all of Des Moines
Got a Ph.D. in Classical Lit
And a soul kind and true
Not gonna tell her, her pants don’t fit
Because I love her, yes I do
And...

My baby’s got a big ole cameltoe
My baby’s got a big ole cameltoe
Holy Christ, it looks alright
That sweet thing can’t go anywhere
Without them labia showin’

It ain’t no real crime
To show the world what you’ve got
‘Specially when your down-home side
Could teach the sun how to be hot
Girl, I got you burned
On the retina of my eyes
You got me all concerned
That your jeans gonna win the Nobel Prize
Ain’t no fashion blunder
Don’t let them jealous girls scare ya
Sittin’ on a handful of wonder
And I swear, I wanna marry ya
Will you marry me?

Baby with the big ole cameltoe
Baby with the big ole cameltoe
Got no ring, ain’t no thing
Sweet thing don’t go nowhere
Without them labia showin’

Well, they oughta send you to Washington
Name you President of the United States
But I want you closer to home
Gettin’ comfortable on my face
Yeah, it’ll be a wild kind of beauty
In our future so bright
Our spirits gonna be so free
With her pants so damn tight
And when our ride comes to its end
And we raise them golden sails
Even the Lord hisself gonna bend
Just a-chewin’ on His fingernails
When He sees my...

Baby with the big ole cameltoe
Baby with the big ole cameltoe
And angel for sure, but so much more
That little darlin’ won’t even go to heaven
Without them labia showin’