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He Keeps Calling Me Baby


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."




words and music by Katherine Wheatley

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