Katherine Wheatley
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Hoot Music, 1999

words and music by Katherine Wheatley

There's a man with his sleeves rolled up
Leaning out of his pick-up truck
Looks like his smile is stuck
Keeps calling me "Baby"

This here is a real small town
He must not be from around
Oh my God he is muscle-bound
Keeps calling me "Baby"

I am sweet sixteen
I ain't never been
Nobody's beauty queen
He keeps calling me "Baby"

Lights me up a cigarette
Tells a joke that I don't get
Wants to know "Do I like him yet?"
Keeps calling me "Baby"

He sings and plays guitar
He's got a week down at Marty's Bar
Oh my god it's a rock star
Keeps calling me "Baby"

I pretend that I get his jokes
I pretend I know how to smoke
I pretend that my bike is broke
Cause he's calling me "Baby"

Long hair in a pick-up truck
Wants to know "Do I wanna puck?"
I say "Sir, you're all mixed up.

'Cause there ain't no girl's hockey teams in this town...

I'll ask my brother for you though.
He might wanna puck."