Текст: Richard Thompson. Front Parlour Ballads. My Soul, My Soul.

My Soul My Soul My Soul

She?s never going to shake it up
She?ll never be satisfied

She?s never going to eye me right
The way I want to be eyed

The way she crimps her curls
The way she calls that hog
The way she sips her tea
The way she smokes that log
The way she bangs the wall
The way she walks the dog

I showed her my invitation
If she didn?t go and scratch me off

She gave me my party favours
But nothing was sweet enough

Didn?t I flip you
A thousand times or more
Didn?t I flip you
A thousand times or more
Didn?t I flip you
A thousand times or more

My Soul My Soul My Soul