In the course of History
There is very little change,
Over what seems normal
And what seems strange
To the stranger with the woman
She's a pot of contradiction
She's fickle , she's feckless
Like a heroine out of fiction
Not to be trusted
But the truth of the attraction is,
She is as hot as mustard
To the woman with the stranger
He's a welcome relief
From the vision of decay
of her original belief
He's tall , he's trim, and handsome
Like the man she's left at home
But she's tired of all the picking
And's gone after another bone.
