Sick

You know I love you, oh, my darling; you know I love to tell you it
You know I'd die for you, my sweetheart; I hesitate to stir the shit
I know you're kind, I know you're generous; and on your shoulder, there's no chip
Its just a small thing, oh, my darling; your very presence makes me sick
Your compassion is unequalled; I'm worthy not your boots to lick
You are an angel, pure and simple; for your presence I'm not fit
You really do deserve a husband; caring, young and kind and rich
You're so witty and so charming; you put to shame those country hicks
It's just a small thing, oh, my darling; your very presence makes me sick