i must use utensils to be classy, i am told
as they sip champagne and talk politics they’re charming, bold
but nothing is as charming as a few hairs out of place
frazzled and full of life, a smile on your face

i must be a lovely lady to sweep men off their feet
as they dress like porcelain dolls, plastic smiles when they greet
but nothing is as lovely as when skin meets dirt
i would trade the love of a man for any kiss of the earth

i must talk with eloquence, but only when i’m told
for my looks are what matter, it’s my opinion i must hold
but nothing is as eloquent as the whispers of the wind
nature doesn’t dispute between me or “him”

but i am not that kind of lady who does what she is told
and somehow, through that, i’m still charming, bold
i will still be a lovely lady even with dirt on my feet
for when it’s me and the earth, who i am is what you meet