The Botanist

Girls growing quick enough Meet mountains when they're sprouts Wait till their daddies hear about Girls cutting of their leaves These girls calling flowers "trees" Wait till your daddy hears about me Will you take me—break me—as I am? Will you stop and stare? Ooh Here's a pretty play-thing that I Can't understand Boy, I'm a fickle weed I sing when my mirror pleads And it waits till my mother's voice is in me 'Cause God, I'm a masochist I'd sing just to bite my lip Wait till my mother hears Me sing like this, oh Will you take me—break me—as I am? Will you stop and stare? Ooh Here's a pretty play-thing that I Can't understand Girls growing, sputter spurt Sneer at their dirty hurt Wait till their daddies cut them down And then Will you take me—break me—as I am? Will you stop and stare? Here's a pretty play-thing that I Can't understand Oh Will you take me—break me—as I am? (Will you) stop and stare? Ooh Here's a pretty play-thing that I Can't understand Here's a pretty play-thing that I Can't understand