Good luck to you with your airs and graces
I've simply lost count of all your faces
To say you had two would leave you short-changed
Shame I can't have them all re-arranged

If I were a cowgirl I'd come rootin and tootin
And you'd be the target to practice my shootin
Despite the face changes your knee caps are static
And I'd get one clear shot in nothing dramatic

If you were a cowboy I'd would beat your "rawhide"
Revenge would be sweet for the times that you lied
I'd have you horse-whipped then dragged in the dust
Guess I'll make do with having you sussed